


Losing You Terrifies Me

by A_David



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs ghost, Adoption, Amnesia, Beverly Katz is the Best, Blackmail, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will, Bottom Will Graham, Brutal Murder, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Child Murder, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Divorce, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, F/F, F/M, FBI Agent, FBI teacher, Fighting, First Time, Fucked Up Love, Ghost Beverly Katz, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hallucinations, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal POV, Happy Murder Family, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Language Kink, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Major character death - Freeform, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mentioned Abigail Hobbs, Murder, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Murder Mystery, My season 4, Near Drowning, Nightmares, POV Will Graham, Poor Will, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Protective Hannibal Lecter, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Temporary Amnesia, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is So Done, Will Graham is a Cannibal, Will Graham is a Mess, graphic smut, unlikely parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 92,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_David/pseuds/A_David
Summary: Gentle. That was the word the monster had used. Will would hold onto that word as if it were the only thing in the universe. Because it was gentle. Each skim of lips and trace of tongue, each brush of fingers and dip of hips were nothing but gently maddening, sending Will so far into himself that he thought he would never be found again, only to be pulled back by books and wine and a weightless timelessness, free of the rules of physics and mathematics.Will suffers from a case of amnesia after the fall and attempts to kill Hannibal whenever he relapses.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Alana Bloom/Will Graham, Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Every relationship in the show, Jimmy Price/Brian Zeller, Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Margot Verger
Comments: 94
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's that really long ass fic I was talking about in my other Hannigram story. I hope to try to have weekly updates for you guys. I've got a long list of chapters already, so we'll see. Maybe I'll do two chapters a week. Currently up to 37 chapters and still going strong. There's also going to be a lot of other languages in this story because Will kinda has a kink for them and Hannibal could never say no. I'll post what they mean at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think! Thank you guys!
> 
> Ps. Also not sure whose art I used for my first picture. If anyone knows, let me know so I can give credit. It's an amazing picture.

* * *

_He couldn’t remember having felt this empty. Not for a long while. The last time he had felt like this had been when his sister had died._

_But this man wasn't his sister. The way this man clung to him wasn't like his sister. The way this man's eyes begged for something else to be the truth and what had happened to be a fake reality that they were all trapped in was not like his sister._

_The cry of shock and pain still clawed to the air, the man's mouth hanging open in surprise as a warm stickiness collected between their tight bodies._

_The hope that had been in Will's beautiful blue eyes was gone, replaced with betrayal that Hannibal knew all too well. But the longer Hannibal looked, the more he reconsidered Will's eye color._

_It wasn't really blue. There wasn't really a color blue, just a lack of pigment refracting light particles with the shortest wavelength, like the sky._

_The sky..._

_It felt like he would never see the sky again. Not with how Will tumbled from his grip and to the kitchen floor, the darkness of his blood now mixing with the other's blood that was already puddling._

_They were supposed to go together, but Hannibal hadn't been blind. He had been giving and taking, pushing and pulling, hoping beyond hope that Will would see like him._

_And oh, Will saw. It was one of his greatest weaknesses and one of his most fascinating aspects. But it wasn't enough to see. It had never been enough to see. To do. Now that was what Hannibal had wanted. Will to do something, something beautiful and breathtaking like Botticelli._

_Will had been Hannibal's Botticelli. From the moment they had found each other, he could see Will as a great renaissance artist and Hannibal the humble canvas or the guiding mentor, sculpting Will into the God that Will deserved to be._

_None of that mattered now. And it hadn't since the phone call, though Hannibal would be lying if he hadn't found the act endearing._

_Will had wanted Hannibal to run and whether or not that was the once upon a time teacher channeling Hannibal himself from the Garret Jacob Hobbs' case or genuinely concerned for Hannibal, Hannibal couldn't say._

_And the rain was cold, Will's warmth falling away into the night along with everything that Hannibal had allowed himself to grow comfortable with. He had broken his own careful rules and it had led to this. To him having to destroy something he had come to love, if this is what love felt like._

_He had loved each person that was left for dead. They were his friends, or he had come to think of them this way. And what was blood and games between friends?_

_An end. That's what it was, what it was always going to be. Just because he had grown attached didn't mean that he wasn't going to protect himself. He came first, always first._

_And not even Will Graham's tempera blue eyes would come before self preservation._

* * *

Eyes fluttered open in the darkness, shirt drenched with sweat. It took a moment for breathing to return back to a normal pace and it gave Hannibal a sense of amusement that even killers could have nightmares.

The memory hugged at Hannibal's stiff muscles as he pulled himself from the lavish bed and freed himself of the hindrance of his nightshirt. 

Pain pulled at the wound in his stomach that had been healing rather well, considering everything that had happened and it took the small amusement away. 

Pain wasn't something Hannibal much enjoyed lingering. The first taste was delicious, like a fine wine or a good aged cheese, but after a while, one could grow bored of the flavor and Hannibal had. 

He got to his feet and found his slippers and robe, unable to let his high maintenance or taste go. If he was bound to live far away from things he loved to do, he was going to make sure he was comfortable in his misery with things he loved to wear, eat and look at. 

With silk now soothing his aching shoulders, he wandered his way through the suite. It wasn't Italy, it wasn't France, it wasn't Austria, but it was working. 

And New York City had its own special charm, Hannibal supposed. It wasn't as old or as rich in history, but it made up for it with good alcohol and art exhibits. 

And he wasn't planning on staying here long, even if the piano and bar were nice after a long day of reading or drawing. He was biding his time until he could move them and in this current state that wasn't a choice.

Hannibal paused in his step beside the bar and looked out at the open curtains that had the nightlife pouring in through it. 

His eyes dropped to a curly haired figure on the couch, outlined from the streetlamps below. 

With a fresh glass of chardonnay, Hannibal stepped over to the couch, bathed in light from curtains that he had closed before he went to bed. 

Will sat with a blank stare out of the window, a glass of amber liquid undrank and in one hand. 

His cheek still had some stitching in it and his shoulder was wrapped and horribly bruised. The rest of him was well, even after the fall. Will had only sustained a concussion, which was a breeze to take care of for Hannibal. 

All of it had been a breeze and Hannibal was more than certain that Jack Crawford might have been one of the reasons. 

No one was looking for them. The warnings had dissipated as interest feigned. Hannibal had been more than watchful. Their faces were gone from the news, but that didn't mean they were off the hook. 

"I didn't expect to see you up," Hannibal commented, watching curiously as Will didn't even so much as glance in his direction. 

"The city that never sleeps," he muttered softly, simply blinking out at the city scape before him. "Never saw you living here."

"I can't very well show my face back in Europe quite yet," Hannibal responded, sniffing at his drink before taking a small sip, letting the flavor envelope his tongue fully before swallowing. 

"You plan to go back?" Will's small voice questioned. 

Hannibal hummed with a small nod. "That was always the plan." 

"My mind feels fuzzy," Will whispered, eyes finally drifting lazily from the window and to where Hannibal still stood. "And my limbs are heavy." 

Hannibal couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips and he tried to hide it behind another sip of wine. "I have you on some very good medication. There shouldn't be any pain."

"You're not going to try to cut open my head again, are you?" Will's head tipped to the side on a weak neck. 

There was a spark of joy that shot through Hannibal at the memory, something smokey and hot. "Always the comedian," Hannibal said with a hint of a tease behind it. He inhaled deeply and glanced around the room before taking a seat on the cushion next to Will and those blue eyes. 

Will's head tipped to the other side to watch Hannibal's movements as if that would protect him, not that it would do much to help him. He wasn't all that worried and it might have been the drugs, but Will didn't think he could push through the fog enough to really put much effort behind the conclusion. 

Hannibal loved the way that Will's drugged eyes trailed over his body in the dark. They were alive despite the heavy medication. 

Two, three, four times his eyes wandered the killer and Hannibal would always cherish the way those eyes lingered on different parts of him and the way the inflection in the blue would change with Will's thoughts, so curious as to what was running through the man's head. 

"Couldn't sleep?" Will finally settled on, words holding a slight slur, southern accent slipping out. Will had taken in every detail of Hannibal and did his best to put the pieces together through the mess in his mind. The bed head, the bags under tired eyes, the open robe and bare chest. 

"Your diagnosis?" Hannibal asked, finger absently caressing the rim of his glass, maroon eyes locked on Will intently. 

"Nightmares." Will's tone was solid. "The question is..." Will's hand trembled as he pushed all of his strength into his arm to lift his whiskey to his lips and take a drink to wet his cottonmouth. "What do you have to be afraid of, Dr. Lecter?" 

Hannibal gave a small amused huff of air and reached out, taking the glass from Will's hand. "I would suggest not adding alcohol to the cocktail that's already swirling through your body, Will." 

Will couldn't have fought the man even if he wanted to. There was concern in Hannibal's tone that Will had learned was strictly for him. Not even Abigail had ever received the same level of unease that Will had in Hannibal's voice and Will was sure that made him special. 

Hannibal placed both glasses aside on the coffee table that was more like a mirror in the dark, the bustling cars leaving light trails on the glass. 

"Do I have to guess?" Will pushed on, eyes following Hannibal as the man got comfortable on the couch. 

Hannibal licked his lips, thinking over the responses in his mind before deciding on one. He shook his head and met Will's eyes, with a small, "No." 

Will did his best to turn more towards the man beside him and was sure the movements were not as fluid as his mind made them out to be. 

"Then humor me, Dr. Lecter," Will said, his voice stronger now. "What do you have to be afraid of?"

"You." 

The answer was simple and hung in the air as Will tried to take it in. Will inhaled deeply and gave a small scoff, a nervous smile on his lips, but Hannibal didn't return the expression. 

"I'm nothing to be afraid of," Will threw out with a groggy shake of his head. "You can't be serious." 

"Deathly." 

The smile slipped from Will's mouth and his eyes once more searched the well put together man before him. Will wasn't sure how much time had passed from the cliffside to now, but Hannibal didn't look like he had changed a bit. Same grey well cut hair, clean shaven face, impeccable clothing, even if it was just evening wear. 

"Why me?" Will gasped out, breath heavy as he tried to find the answer in the unreadable expression on Hannibal's face. His mind struggled even though the fog was slowly beginning to let up. 

Hannibal looked over Will in silence a moment longer, eyes taking in the man's appearance. Curly hair longer than normal and so tempting, begging for fingers to tossle it. Chin and cheeks in need of a shave. Eyes still tempera blue and deliciously clouded with chemicals. 

Hannibal was always careful of any movement that he made or any words he put out into the universe. He played a game of chess with fate herself and he was always so careful about the sacrificed pieces he sent forward into his war. Everything was calculated with every possible outcome present in his mind before he made a choice. 

But for once in his life, he didn't think. He simply did. 

Hannibal's fingers reached out and pushed at soft curls until he could fully see Will's eyes in the city lights. His fingertips traced the scar he had created, sensing the tenseness from Will as the memory swam to the forefront of the man's mind. 

"Losing you terrifies me," Hannibal replied in barely more than a whisper, fingers tangling further into Will's curls. 

"Then why do you want me dead?" Will's eyes slid closed as Hannibal's fingers tugged a little harder at his hair. A smirk took over Hannibal's lips at how Will still gave into any of Hannibal's whims without question. 

"I only want you dead if I decide it's your time," Hannibal answered, voice husky in the dark. Hannibal's eyes watched as Will's Adam's apple bobbed with a swallow. "Now is not the time."

"And how would you do it?" 

The words of the past echoed around the suite and Hannibal's smile grew hungrily, eyes dragging down Will's throat. 

"With my hands." 

Hands were personal. Hands were intimate. Hands would be the end of Will Graham and he welcomed it. When the time came, of course. And Will couldn't think of anyone else he trusted with his own death more than he trusted Hannibal, how ever twisted that conclusion was. Maybe he did belong back with the criminally insane...

Will's eyes flickered open at that and were met with an intense maroon gaze that bore deeply into him, seeing him inside and out. 

"I'll be gentle," Hannibal pushed into the silence between them. The hand still lost in Will's hair loosened its grip and traveled down to Will's jawline. An index finger hooked his chin and lifted his face until his neck was fully exposed, pale in the light. "You'll enjoy it." 

The words were whispered with a warm breath that Will could feel against his skin like brush fire. Whispers of breath kept contact, oxygenating the fire enough to flush the investigator's cheeks. 

Hannibal watched closely as the blush crept from Will's cheeks, to his neck, the dip of his collarbone and across a bare chest, under bandages. 

Hannibal let Will's chin go free and whether it was due to the drugs in his system or not, Will's stance didn't change, neck bared against the moonlight. 

Hannibal took in the marble artwork for a moment more, internally fighting a war with himself that he didn't have to engage in very often. The normally quiet voice in his head, that he could push down for more logic based reasoning, was screaming at him to give in for once. 

Through the cloudiness of Will's mind, something bright and brilliant pushed its way in, being the first clear thing Will had experienced all night. 

A whimper left Will's parted lips without his permission at a pair of wicked teeth against his neck. One of Will's hands shot over his mouth, the other clutching at Hannibal's silk covered shoulder for balance in the mist that was in his mind. 

Will's pulse fluttered like hummingbird's wings beneath Hannibal's lips and his tongue trailed the vein, exciting another delectable sound from Will, though it was muffled. 

Will wasn't sure if his mind had ever been so clear before in his life. His senses felt anything but dull the longer Hannibal leaned over him. 

A dangerous thought was sharp in his mind as Hannibal's teeth grazed across his skin and over his pulse. One of the very last memories that Will had of Hannibal was the man ripping The Red Dragon's throat out with his teeth. The same teeth that now danced down to Will's collar. 

It was carnal, lighting through Will at how easily Will trusted he wouldn't meet the same fate. A man with the taste for flesh, Will's own flesh, with teeth so close to what could end him in seconds. It was obscene how arousing the idea was and Will was ashamed of that being his only clarity. 

There was a shift beside Will on the couch and pressure was added to either side of his legs as Hannibal straddled him. Hannibal gathered up Will's wrists and trapped them above the man's head at the top of the couch. 

Hannibal looked over Will fully, proud of his work that would surely leave Will marked as his when morning decided to break. 

Hannibal watched as Will's chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly as Will's blue eyes looked everywhere but where Hannibal wanted them. 

"Look at me," he commanded, voice gentle but firm, accent thicker than it normally was. Will's eyes immediately shot to Hannibal's face at the order, breathing only more labored at the sight of swollen lips. Hannibal leaned closer, warm breath now fluttering across Will's face. "All of your attention must always be on me." 

Will gave a single nod in response and Hannibal smirked. "Good boy," he whispered, words now in Will's ear, making Will shiver horribly. "Never cover your mouth in front of me again, do you understand?" Will gave another nod, letting the heat from Hannibal's body sink into his, defrosting his flesh that he hadn't thought as freezing until this point. "I want to always hear your voice." 

Before Will could focus in on an understanding, Hannibal's tongue licked at the shell of Will's ear. 

"Hannibal," Will gasped, squirming under the tight grip. He could hear Hannibal's low rumbling chuckle in his ear. Teeth snatched at his ear lobe and the moan that left Will made his shame bloom across his skin in rose petals. 

Lips traced his skin tantalizingly slow, to his jaw and over his cheeks, a breath away from a feeling Will had dreamed about more than once before he was torn to pieces by the man over him. 

"Will," Hannibal whispered, lips hovering just above Will's. Will's eyes were clouded over, but on Hannibal, just as ordered. " _Aš einu tavęs valgyti_." 

“I don’t know what that means,” Will muttered, eyes flickering unsteadily between Hannibal’s. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips and he could see the dark flash in Hannibal’s eyes. 

“Yes, you do,” Hannibal said slowly, making Will tremble. "Use that breath taking mind of yours." 

Lips mouthed at his jaw and it only made Will's mind hazier, his thoughts evading him as he struggled for an answer that he knew Hannibal would want.

The words repeated over and over in Will's mind, echoing through the stark empty mind palace he had slowly been building. It took a moment longer for the words to finally find purchase and Will gasped as teeth bit into the flesh just below his jawline. 

"Devour me," Will blurted out, squirming under the teeth that were assaulting him. 

Before Will could catch his breath, Hannibal's lips attacked his hungrily. Will sat powerless under Hannibal's grip and wondered if his other victims felt as alive when Hannibal took over them. 

Electricity shot through each of his faculties and to the tips of his fingers and toes. His body moved naturally against the restraints on his wrists, back arching off the back of the couch when Hannibal's tongue trailed a path over Will's lips. 

Will's mouth was sweet, tongue torturous as it met Hannibal's. It reminded him of Capezzoli di Venere, deep rich dark chocolate, chestnuts and a healthy portion of brandy swirling together in a mind numbing confection. 

Hannibal couldn't help but notice how awake Will felt beneath him. Pulse fluttering madly against Hannibal's fingers. Wired and responsive to his touch. Sounds lewd and alert, making Hannibal's insides twist in a way he had never felt them do before. 

It wasn't unpleasant and Hannibal wanted more, as always. Greedy as ever. Everything was for him and his pleasures. No one came between him and what he wanted, but tonight was a night of firsts and it wasn't about to stop. 

There was a sharp inhale from Will and he pulled away from Hannibal with a grimace on his face and clenched teeth. His body hesitantly reclined back into the couch and Hannibal was swift to release his hold, actually surprising himself with how he cared if he hurt the empath or not. 

Wills arms slowly dropped to his sides and one of his hands went to the bandaging that covered his shoulder, face still screwed up in pain and teeth still bared. Will's other hand rested on Hannibal's knee, gently rubbing assurance into the fabric that covered skin. 

"I think the medication wore off," Will whispered, palm of his hand instinctively putting pressure on the stab wound in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. His eyes slid closed and he took a deep breath. 

"I-'' Hannibal's voice cracked and one of Will's eyes opened enough to watch as a fist went to Hannibal's mouth and he cleared his throat. "I can give you some more, but it will most likely put you back to sleep." 

"Maybe you should take some too," Will teased softly, voice barely above a whisper. There was no mistaking the drowsiness that plagued Will's tone. "Nightmares do not become you, Dr. Lecter." 

Will watched curiously as the normally so well put together man before him looked away and a slight pink tinge covered his high cheekbones. 

"Hannibal?" Will questioned, hand caressing the man's knee from where he still sat, straddling Will's lap. Hannibal's amber eyes met Will's in the darkness. "When did you start dreaming about me?" 

Hannibal simply shook his head in answer and climbed from the couch to go to the kitchen where he dug through a cabinet of medical supplies until he found what he was looking for. With a small glass vile and a syringe now in hand, Hannibal knelt down beside Will. 

"I'm not going to wake up dead, am I?" 

The question stained the air and made Hannibal smile, a small sense of control starting to form for him again. His fingers worked on opening the syringe and he shoved the tip of the needle into the lid of the vile, the liquid crystal clear as it danced in the moonlight. 

"You wouldn't wake up," Hannibal corrected, taking Will's arm and looking carefully over it, fingers gliding across soft skin. 

"Am I going to wake up?" Will asked, shivering at the light contact of Hannibal's fingertips. Will's eyes looked over the glimmering needle tiredly. 

"Do you want to wake up?" 

Will's gaze dropped to Hannibal who sat quietly, expecting an answer. Will tossed the question around in his slightly clearer mind, tasting each aspect of it carefully, the way he had learned to do whenever he dined with Hannibal. 

The words that came from Will's mouth caught him off guard and they must have had the same effect on the killer because his eyebrows rose inquisitively. 

"Only if I'm beside you." 

"You're married Will," Hannibal muttered, trying to dismiss the comment by pulling Will's arm a little closer. Will winced as the needle pressed into his skin and a slight burn entered his forearm. "I don't believe-"

"Don't grow a conscience on me now," Will interrupted, dragging a maroon gaze to his face. The needle was pulled free and Will could already begin to feel the fog slipping over his mind once more. He did his best to fight through it even though he knew he would lose. "You kissed me, remember?" 

"Yes," Hannibal said softly, getting from the floor to throw the syringe away. "I did." When Hannibal returned, he looked over Will who was still in the very same position. "And I want to keep kissing you, Will Graham." 

Blue eyes made of Botticelli brush strokes stared at Hannibal through the haze of medication and Hannibal sighed. 

What a wicked game they were playing. What wicked things Will did to him. Will infected every single one of his dreams, every single waking thought. It was like a disease. It was torture to love him. 

"I want you to keep kissing me," Will's slurred voice said into the open night. "I want everything you have to offer." 

"You're letting the medicine speak for you," Hannibal warned. "Let's get you back to bed." 

Will stuck out an arm haphazardly and Hannibal took it, pulling Will to his feet. The man stumbled and Hannibal quickly scooped Will into his arms, ignoring the stiffness from the bullet wound. Will couldn't walk now. He shouldn't have even been out of bed in the first place. 

Will's arms circled around Hannibal's neck and Hannibal did his best to ignore how Will's head rested against his shoulder, breath warm against his neck.

"I was serious," Will said as Hannibal began his trip around the coffee table that he still needed to clean. "I want to wake up beside you or not at all." 

Hannibal's footing stuttered and it was enough to make Will sit up to meet Hannibal's eyes with concern. Hannibal was shocked. He had never had a person be so willingly close to him. Not even Alana had meant anything to him. She was simply a pawn to his fated game of chess. 

But Will... 

Will was special. Will had always been special. 

"You'll be sorry," Hannibal cautioned despite the fact that he was sure Will's cognitive abilities were mostly shut down. "You won't like me in the sunlight."

Will didn't say anything, simply shook his head and rested back against Hannibal in exhaustion, nuzzling his face deep into Hannibal's neck. 

Hannibal's feet moved of their own accord, not listening to the logical voice in his mind, instead listening to the small voice that seemed to be winning every battle that night. 

Hannibal found himself in his own room that still smelled of night terrors, despair, and sweat. 

He gently lied Will into his bed, staring down and the weak body that was one hundred percent in his control. He could end it here and now if he really wanted to. There were so many ways too. Overdose, strangulation, and smothering were among the first few ideas to push into Hannibal's mind, but he ignored them. 

He slid out of his slippers and removed his silk robe, deciding to leave cleaning up to a future Hannibal. 

The bed was accepting and dragged Hannibal down into it, a tiredness in his limbs that he had not noticed before. 

He pulled the blankets over Will's body and then his own, his eyes shutting, Hannibal spent. 

Hannibal jumped, eyes shooting open as Will's head came to rest on his chest, fitting so naturally that Hannibal swore their bodies were made with the other in mind. 

Fatigued fingers tangled themselves in the hair across Hannibal's chest and Will's breath was hot against Hannibal's bare skin. 

Will's small snores filled the room and Hannibal's fingers once more tangled in dark curls. He leaned down and placed a kiss to Will's head. He would deal with the aftermath tomorrow. The consequences could be a problem for another day.

* * *

_Aš einu tavęs valgyti- I'm going to eat you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why was I in your bed, Dr. Lecter?" Will questioned, unsure if first names were quite appropriate. Hannibal slowly sat up, avoiding Will's gaze.
> 
> "A condition of last night's conversation." His voice was firm and final as if telling Will not to challenge him. "I would not put much thought to it."

* * *

Will woke to the smell of something cooking and slowly sat up. Delicious scents filled the room and in the daylight Will could finally make out the room around him. 

His arm gave a painful twinge as he pushed himself up from the bed. The bed was large and plush with rich colored bedding that reminded Will of the wine Hannibal liked to drink. 

The architecture was gaudy and Will had a deep sense that it didn't fit the city they were in, though he wasn't exactly sure where they were. 

The golds and blues and reds reminded Will of the buildings all over Florence. Over the top and overwhelming. But that was Hannibal. 

Will carefully walked through the bedroom and out into the rest of the apartment that was not nearly as gaudy as the bedroom. In fact, it was cold and modern and it occurred to Will that maybe Hannibal was hiding behind the want of a better time with how he had decorated the bedroom. 

Will found Hannibal at the stove in the kitchen, a spatula in hand, carefully maneuvering something in a frying pan. 

He was dressed down from what Will was used to seeing the man wear. A knit sweater and slacks instead of his normal three piece suit and tie. 

Will stepped closer to the dining table and found two place settings at one end and then at the other were stacks of papers. Across them, in incredibly fine details, was the city of New York. Tall buildings with complex shadows and lighting. And several others of cliffs with lighthouses on them, something familiar about the shape and the details of the coast line.

"These are beautiful," Will commented with a voice that felt like sandpaper. 

"You're awake," Hannibal said, stating the fact like it was the only real thing left in the world. "How is the pain?" 

"I'm stiff," Will answered, turning back to the kitchen and to where Hannibal was adding something else to the frying pan. "But that's to be expected." 

"So it is," Hannibal answered with a nod. He walked briskly to the table, frying pan in hand and he scooped the omlet he had made onto a plate. "Please," Hannibal said, eyes meeting Will's. "Sit. Eat. I will join you in a moment." With that, he went back to the kitchen and quickly cracked several more eggs into a bowl with some cream and whisked them together. 

Will took a seat at the place setting that Hannibal had indicated. He reached out and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding a small amount of cream and sugar. 

He took a sip and winced at the heat that assaulted his tongue, making it burn with a sticky sweetness. He placed the coffee aside and picked up a slice of toasted bread from a stack, buttering it as he waited for Hannibal's presence at the dining table. 

He took a single bite before discarding the toast to his plate. He folded his arms on the edge of the table, deciding it was bad manners to continue eating without the chef. 

"It looks delicious," Will tossed out, hoping to fill up the silent void between them, an awkwardness there that Will couldn't quite place. 

"I found a small farmers market on the northern outskirts of the city. Everything is fresh, as it should be." 

Will turned in his chair and watched as Hannibal moved around the small kitchen, looking firmly in his element, cleaning all while making sure his own eggs were just as perfect as Will's. 

"How long have I been out?" 

"A month or two." Hannibal's footsteps came around the table and he placed his own food on his plate and set the frying pan aside. "I assure you that you were well taken care of. I do keep all of my promises, even the difficult ones." Hannibal took his place at the head of the table and picked up his silverware, waiting with expectant eyes on Will. 

Ever the gracious host, waiting for Will to take the first bite. Will picked up his fork and cut into the omlet, stabbing at the eggs before putting them in his mouth. 

"Perfect as always," Will said, causing Hannibal to give a small smile before digging into his own food. There was silence between them, the only sound was the clanking of silverware against fine china. Finally the curiosity overcame Will and he had to ask. "What promise?" 

Hannibal's movements stilled and he lowered his fork down to his plate. He wiped at his lips with a napkin before turning his full attention to Will. 

"How much do you remember?" 

Will's face scrunched up as he looked over Hannibal's calm stance. What was he supposed to remember? Just because Hannibal's face didn't give anything away that didn't mean his eyes were clear. There was something in their amber stare that told him Hannibal wanted to hear something specific come out of his mouth. 

"I remember..." Will trailed off as he thought back through foggy and abstract memories that he wasn't even sure were real or not. He rubbed at his tired eyes and wished that he had his glasses. "The water was cold, icy." 

Will sighed, licking his lips as a feeling of dread washed over him. "I couldn't find you," he admitted, the waves licking at his skin and burning his cheek as he tried to spit the blood and sea water from his mouth. "I thought I had lost you." 

Hannibal listened in complete silence, watching Will carefully, trying to piece together what Will was telling him. Hannibal had his own broken memories that he couldn't make sense of and had been hoping that Will's would help put the puzzle together. 

"It felt like an eternity before I was able to find you," Will continued softly, wind whipping brutally at his skin. "Took you to shore." Will lowered his hands and looked over Hannibal's curiously raised eyebrows. "You weren't breathing." 

Hannibal's hand went to his chest and touched at phantom bruising that was no longer there. "CPR?" 

Will gave a nod and rubbed at his mouth that was suddenly very dry. "I'm not fully inept when it comes to medical training." 

"I never implied that you were," Hannibal muttered, reaching out for Will's hand. Will jumped at the contact as if Hannibal had pulled him from his own mind. "We do not have to discuss this further if it upsets you." 

"I'm not upset," Will corrected, letting the caressing of Hannibal's thumb on his hand pull him back into the present. "I was scared. I'm still scared." 

"Of what?"

"Losing you terrifies me." 

The words held something familiar in them that Will couldn't exactly place as if he had heard them in a dream before. But at Hannibal's widened gaze he put the words more in the category of a deeply hidden memory that he needed to try to find. But Will would save that for later. 

"I pulled you back to the-the cave. I tried to stop the bleeding and start a fire, but I-I passed out," Will continued, his free hand rubbing at his left temple where a migraine was beginning to set in. "I remember lights. Bright lights. And medical equipment. Blood everywhere." His eyes widened as he looked over Hannibal. "You performed..." Will trailed off as he tried to push the horror of the situation down. 

"My own surgery?" Hannibal asked with a confirming nod. "Cheap liquor does wonder for the nerves, but not for steady hands." Hannibal pulled his hand free of Will's and he went back to eating his food so that it wouldn't go cold. "I did yours sober. Hands as steady as a dancer en pointe." 

"But you're alright, right?" Will asked with concern throughout his voice, catching Hannibal off guard. Hannibal finished his mouthful before politely meeting Will's gaze. 

"I'm here, aren't I?" 

"That's not what I asked you," Will muttered, pushing his unfinished plate aside and turning to face Hannibal more head on. "You're physically alright?" 

Hannibal gave a nod. "The first few days were unpleasant, but nothing that I couldn't take care of." His eyes lowered to Will's plate. "Please finish. You need to eat something. You've been on a diet of broths and yogurts. That's hardly sustainable for long periods of time." 

Will sighed, calling Hannibal's eyes back to Will's thin face that really was in bad need of a shave. "And the promise?" 

"I promised to take care of you," Hannibal supplied, though it didn't bring any new memories to the forefront of Will's mind. "And take care of you I will. So, dear clever boy, eat your food before I force you to." 

With that, and an air of wanting the conversation to come to a close, Hannibal snatched up his dishes and went back to the kitchen where Will could hear the water turn on so that Hannibal could begin washing up. 

Will pulled the plate back to him and took another bite of his eggs, eyes looking out at the living room. His eyes landed curiously on two glasses of unfinished drinks on the coffee table. His head tipped to the side in question and Will found himself leaving the dining table in the direction of the living room. 

"Was someone here?" he asked, sitting down on the couch and getting level with the glasses. One was a wine glass with a type of white wine in it that looked like it had barely been touched. The other was a glass of liquid that held the same heat as Hannibal's eyes, not more than two fingers of liquid that hadn't been touched at all. 

"No," Hannibal replied from where he still was in the kitchen. "Fetch those for me so I can clean them." There was a slight hint of disappointment in his tone and Will wasn't exactly sure why. 

"Whose were these?" Will picked up the two glasses and carried them to the kitchen. He held them out and Hannibal's hands took Will's. His eyes trailed over Will's face carefully, trying to verify if Will really didn't recall what had happened. "Hannibal?" 

"Ours," Hannibal answered with a deep breath, making Will feel like he had ripped Hannibal from a more pleasant reality. "We had a lovely chat last night." Hannibal pulled the cups free from Will's grasp and turned immediately back to the sink, speaking once more before Will could ask for clarification. "Finish your breakfast, Will. I will not ask again. And when you are finished, go shower. You'll feel better. I'll have some medication for you when you're out." 

With breakfast quickly finished, Will made his way in the direction of the bathroom that Hannibal pointed out to him. His hands reached into the shower and turned on the water. He froze when he spotted himself in the mirror. 

Hair long and unruly, beard scruffy, face thin and gaunt and a delicate lacing of bruising around his neck as well as over his chest. His arms were thin and as he looked over the rest of himself he could see just how easily the clothes hung loosely off his body. The more he looked over himself, the more he was curious how he had enough strength to be standing. His legs were toothpicks. 

The idea made Will smirk. Hannibal would applaud his choice of words. 

Will carefully began to unwrap the bandages that covered his chest and he pulled bloodied gause from his stitching. His fingers trailed over the sutures and he closed his eyes at the alien feeling of his fingers on the wound. 

The stiffness was worse now that more of whatever medicine Dr. Lecter had him on was wearing off. He rotated his arm the best that he could, teeth clenching at a sharp twinge there. Phantom and real pains from stabbings both long ago and recently spiderwebbed across his chest. 

Will shook his head and dug through several drawers until he found a pair of scissors, tossing them onto the counter for when he was finished with his shower. The steam quickly covered the metal blades as it laced over the mirror. 

The water felt good on his skin, an intense heat loosening up his tensed muscles. Will did his best to wash himself up with one hand, his other not able to lift over his head. He would have to mention that to Hannibal. Maybe the once upon a time surgeon could work on the tight muscles and help him move once more. 

Once out and a towel securely around his waist, Will took the pair of scissors and began snipping away at his curls. He had cut his hair before, plenty of times. It helped him avoid human contact and there was nothing more horrid than being expected to make small talk while someone held a sharp object next to your major arteries. 

With hair and beard trimmed and cleaned, Will left the bathroom, towel still around his waist. He entered the rest of the apartment and his brow furrowed when he couldn’t find Hannibal. Rounding the corner, he found Hannibal still in the kitchen, eyes firmly on the two glasses of alcohol that Will had fetched for him earlier. 

Hannibal’s lips were pursed and Will knew he was lost deep in thought. About last night most likely. A lovely chat? That was what Hannibal had said, wasn’t it? So, why didn’t Will remember the conversation? It had clearly happened. The glasses were proof enough of that. 

Maybe Will had just been so drugged that he didn’t remember. Maybe it was better if he didn’t remember, because whatever they had discussed seemed to have Hannibal captivated and Will wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was said between them. Will knew his mouth would just spout out any words that came to his mind after a few drinks and knew that he had no filter late at night... What had he said? 

Will cleared his throat and Hannibal’s head turned in his direction, Hannibal’s dead-yet-illuminated eyes holding the same inscrutable expression they had been while on the cups. His eyes trailed over Will’s body and Will didn’t feel nearly as exposed as he thought he probably should have. He had never even been this comfortable around Molly. 

“Hannibal, where would my clothes be?” Will asked into the silence. It seemed to take a moment or two for the words to be processed, but Hannibal left the kitchen, leading Will towards a door next to the bedroom he had woken in earlier. Hannibal opened the door and Will stepped in, looking around the room. 

It was much like the main living area in its decoration. Modern, cold and hard. Nothing like the room that Will had woken up in with its altered architecture. There was a bed and a dresser beside it. On the dresser were all manners of medical equipment including IV drips. It made sense that Will would have had to be on such things, but it made him curious how Hannibal had come about finding them. 

Will turned to thank Hannibal, but found the man had returned to the kitchen, finally emptying the cups into the sink with a hint of distaste at wasting the alcohol. Will entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Hannibal alone in the kitchen. 

Hannibal pulled a dish towel to himself and began drying Will’s glass, a knot in his stomach he was certain was not from the bullet he had received. 

Hannibal had expected that Will would not recall all of the details from the night before, but he had hoped that Will would remember some of it. And maybe, on a subconscious level, Will did remember. Will had quoted Hannibal right back to him, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But Hannibal knew better than to push Will, especially during this moment in time. 

Will was fragile. He had always been fragile, but this was glass that was already shattered and frozen in freefall before it had a chance to fully come apart. Hannibal could either fix that, tape it all back together so the paine was still in place, or let it all crumble apart. And he had promised that the latter would not happen. 

Hannibal finished putting the now dry dishes away and paused, taking in the time that had passed. He glanced towards Will’s closed bedroom door and made his way over to it with long strides. A hand took the door handle and he knocked as he pushed the door open. 

“Will,” he called gently. “Is everything ok?” 

Hannibal glanced around the door to see a tidied up, frustrated looking Will with a pair of jeans on and a button up shirt balled up in a fist. Will’s head snapped up at the intrusion and he gave a sigh. Hannibal didn’t need to be asked to know what Will needed. Will didn’t have to utter a single word. They had grown close enough that they could read the other’s expressions, and Will’s was on the verge of angry tears. 

Hannibal stepped into the room and made his way over to Will who threw the shirt down onto the bed and lowered himself onto the edge, head in his hands. Hannibal sat beside him and carefully reached out a single hand, testing the waters. 

His fingers grasped onto Will’s bare shoulder and when the man didn’t flinch or pull away, Hannibal continued his work. 

"Will," he commanded softly. "Let me look at your stitches." 

Will sat up fully with Hannibal's help and let Hannibal's fingers poke and prod at him. It was uncomfortable, but nothing that Will hadn't been through before. 

"They look good," Hannibal muttered, leaning closer to Will until Will could smell the cologne on the man. Something that made Will's heart beat faster without reason, or none that Will could place. Will knew the scent. It was Hannibal through and through. The same smell that greeted Will each time he had gone to a session. The same smell that Will had been left with when he was gutted. The same smell that Will had woken up to that morning in a room that now occurred to him was not his own. "We just need to work on getting your movement back." 

"Why was I in your bed, Dr. Lecter?" Will questioned, unsure if first names were quite appropriate. Hannibal slowly sat up, avoiding Will's gaze. 

"A condition of last night's conversation." His voice was firm and final as if telling Will not to challenge him. "I would not put much thought to it. Now, let me work on your shoulder. You must be sore." 

Will's head struggled to wrap around the information given to him as Hannibal's hands easily contorted him into a different position and fingers began to dig into the tissue of his shoulder. Will groaned in pain and pulled from Hannibal’s grasp, facing Hannibal head on. 

“What happened last night?” he demanded, anxiety plaguing his chest with how he didn’t even have a clouded memory of their supposed conversation. Hannibal’s beguiling eyes flickered over Will’s face as if he was trying to decide what to tell Will. 

The corner of his lip tipped upwards in a sad smile. “Nothing of consequence, I assure you. Please put it from your mind.” 

The answer only pissed Will off more. “Hannibal, do not play these games with me, please!” Will begged, a hand reaching out and taking hold of Hannibal’s arm to ground himself in reality. “Not now. Not when I need you.” Will sighed and lowered his eyes to his lap. “Please tell me what happened.” 

“If you so insist,” Hannibal finally said with a deep breath, cooling some of the fire that was in Will’s chest. Will looked back up to Hannibal whose smile had dropped. “Please forgive me if this comes off as presumptuous, but I would much rather show you than try to explain it with words that are currently alluding me.” 

“Ok,” Will agreed in a whisper, head tipped to the side in question, afraid just of what Hannibal was about to show him. Hannibal had shown him so much before, way more than Will ever needed to see. Hannibal had shattered him and put him back together far too many times for Will to count and Will wasn’t sure he could be put back together this time if he was pulled too far into the dark. 

The familiar grasp of Hannibal’s hand on the side of Will’s face sent a stab of panic through Will, nearly afraid that he would meet the same fate as he had back in Hannibal’s house years before that he would forever be scarred from. 

Hannibal leaned in closer to Will and all feelings left him as lips pressed against his. Soft, light and chaste. Hannibal quickly pulled back as if anything more would be constructed as rude. He cleared his throat and made himself busy with finding Will’s discarded shirt and shaking it out so it wasn’t balled up any longer. 

Will blinked several times, mouth open as he breathed. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. What was he supposed to do with that? And with drinks and drugs, what had happened last night? How far had they gone? 

Will’s fingers went to his neck, feeling at the bruised skin that was there. He had figured the bruising was left from an injury of the fall, but now he wasn’t so sure. Now he was curious how close he had let the serial killer before him get. 

“Dr. Lecter,” Will finally got out. “Did you kiss me last night?”

“Difficult to avoid.” 

Will watched as uncertain hands tried to press out wrinkles in his shirt. His heart rushed in his ears as he tried to somehow recall the event. It was a natural step in their relationship, if Will was being honest with himself. And he supposed that he had suspicions that Hannibal had some sort of emotional attachment to him, something stronger than client and doctor and friends. 

_Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes._

“Did I kiss you back?” 

“Yes.” 

_But do you ache for him?_

“Do you love me?” 

The answer wasn’t as quickly spoken this time. Will could see Hannibal swallow before turning to face Will with kind eyes and another one of his sad half smiles. “Yes,” he muttered, voice rough and thick. 

_But do you ache for him?_

The words assaulted Will’s mind, playing over and over on repeat, making him blink as he tried to push the words away. 

_...do you ache for him? ...ache for him? But do you ache for him? ...ache... ache... do you ache for him?_

“I ache for you,” Will said softly, unsure if the words had truly come from his mouth or if they were just in his head. It wasn’t often that Will caused a surprised expression to plaster across the doctor’s face, but Hannibal’s eyes widened at the admittance and Will could feel a flush bloom across his cheeks. "I'm not saying it's a logical feeling, but..." Will trailed off, arm coming up to mess up his curls, but he groaned, arm unable to move up high enough. A sharp pain and a settling dull ache entered his shoulder and his other hand covered the bruised stitching, pushing at it in hopes it would alleviate some of the discomfort. 

"Will," Hannibal said and Will glanced over to see Hannibal look at a loss for words. A man who normally knew how all of his sentences were going to end, unable to form any more of it. 

"Yes?" 

The space between them was thick as blue met maroon. Will waited for Hannibal to speak, but no words were coming. It wasn't often that Will could make Hannibal fall quiet. It wasn't often that Will could make Hannibal do anything at all. 

And Hannibal was always so careful, his human suit ever on and perfectly kept. But maybe Will had pushed under the suit or maybe Hannibal had decided that he didn't need to hide behind it any more. He didn't have to be perfect all of the time. Not when it was just the two of them. 

The thought sounded nice to Will. Just the two of them. It sounded domestic even. Almost as if Will weren't married with a kid who probably had no idea where he had gone, if he was alive or dead. 

God, Molly. What had he done to her? If it really was two months, then they had been wondering what had become of him after the transport was attacked. He hadn't contacted them and Hannibal was free. They probably thought the worst. Hannibal had killed him. But then again, they might as well be dead. That was what was best for the two of them. 

"I hunger for you." 

The words were bared in the small space between them. Will blinked and took in Hannibal's expression. Was there fear in his eyes? Will couldn't recall ever seeing the man afraid, but then again, the man had never been quite so open with Will. The suit was being peeled back slowly, a corner of Hannibal's true person peeking out. 

The small piece was something shy, Will placed. He was waiting for Hannibal to make a move, to be in control just as he always was, but Hannibal didn't so much as inch forward. Maybe he was restraining himself. That was more like Hannibal. Perfect restraint and control with every move planned ahead several steps. 

"Can I..." Will trailed off, the words soft but seeming to echo in the bedroom. He licked at his lips, unsure if his heart could beat any faster. 

They had kissed last night. This wasn't their first time, but Will felt like it would be out of place to not ask for permission. Will wasn't one to act first and ask for forgiveness later. He liked the open doorway that permission gave him. He wasn't rude or out of place. 

"Yes," Hannibal whispered, granting Will the approval he had been waiting for. 

Will lifted a hand and he cursed how it trembled. He had never reached out to Hannibal himself. Hannibal always initiated the contact. The hand shakes, the hugs, the undressing with his eyes. The first time he had ever reached out for Hannibal was the hug that he had used to throw them off the cliff. 

Will had never thought of himself as suicidal, and although he had picked their downward path, it was a necessary one. He liked what they had become. He hadn't lied. It was beautiful. And they could do great things together if Will would give into Hannibal. Great and terrible. And Will couldn't let that happen. And so, he had decided to take both of them out of the world because he knew that if one of them died, the other couldn't live much longer. They were too tangled. Too conjoined. 

Hannibal leaned into Will's gentle caress at his cheek, eyes sliding closed. He had to be careful, play the game right. The small voice was pushed down once more, not being allowed to speak now that nightmares weren't recently present. 

And he didn't want to push Will. His mind was brittle, delicate. His memory was flammable and would go up in smoke if Hannibal tried to force him to remember. 

And above all, Hannibal wasn't sure if he could go through Will forgetting again. The painkillers were one thing, but Will should have shadowed memories, not lost time. Hannibal didn't need or want Will to lose time anymore. 

And maybe Will wouldn't lose time anymore. Last night had been the first time Will had called him by name without having to be reminded what it was. It had driven Hannibal a bit mad. 

The last two months had been hard enough as it was. Hannibal had let himself feel far too much, get far too close to his counterpart. It was so dangerous, these stupid feelings swirling inside of him.

It was like he was a child again with his first crush. A crush that ended up being crushed. Windpipes unable to move air through them anymore. Hannibal hadn't meant to kill her. She was just... Difficult. Wouldn't dance in the play he was staging like she was supposed to. So he cut her strings so she couldn't dance at all. If she wouldn't dance for him like a good puppet would, then there was no use for her. 

Will's lips were warm as they pressed against Hannibal's, eliciting a small sigh from the killer that he didn't give permission to leave him. A flush rode to his cheeks in his embarrassment. He had never just let himself feel before. He had never let himself be open. Not like this and not for someone as deadly as himself. 

It was horrifying and made his blood rush and he wondered if this was how the pigs he removed from the world felt while he was working on his masterpieces that made more use of the person than they had been in life. 

Will pulled back and licked at his lips. The kiss was nice, but Hannibal wasn't nice. Hannibal was threatening and treacherous and risky. He was unhealthy in the most appetizing way. 

"Hannibal," he whispered, causing Hannibal to open his eyes to find a blue gaze that would put the Primavera to shame. "Don't make me ask." 

Hannibal smirked with a small huff of air and Will could feel the denial coming. "You have to tell me what you want, Will," Hannibal instructed, toying with the man in front of him. 

There was the Hannibal that Will knew. The games and the strategies. The control and the tight grip that gave him everything he wanted. 

The idea of saying what Will wanted out loud made his pulse race. He had never had to vocalize his wants out loud. He didn't have many, and the others were either able to read or guess exactly what he needed, and Will knew Hannibal was just the same. Hannibal knew exactly what Will wanted, but he had never given without taking and he wasn't about to start. 

Hannibal's fingers pulled on one of Will's damp curls as he waited for Will to speak. "What do you want, Will?" 

"You said you hunger for me?" Will questioned, swallowing at his embarrassment that threatened to turn his skin red. Hannibal hummed in answer, amber eyes flickering over Will's face. "Show me how you do?" 

Hannibal gave another small hum as he leaned a little closer. "Is the bruising on your neck not enough to show you?" Will's breath jumped as Hannibal's hand gripped tightly at his throat. His hand was strong and the hold was firm, but not threatening. 

It sparked something familiar in the back of his mind. Something that had to do with Hannibal's teeth on his skin. The danger in the actions and what they could mean and the exhilaration of letting himself trust that he was safe in Hannibal's grasp, even if his adrenaline was telling him to run. 

"It's not enough," Will got out, voice thick. He couldn't stop the small breath that left him as the hand at his neck tightened, air not coming to him as easily now. 

Hannibal's grip pulled Will forward and Hannibal leaned over so his lips were by Will's ear. "Are you afraid?" Hannibal asked softly. "Your pulse is racing." 

Will shook his head in answer. "Stop teasing me, Hannibal," Will muttered. "Please." He knew what _please_ would do to the man. Hannibal liked to be begged. He loved to be the one in charge and please was the best way to get Hannibal on your side.

_I hunger for you._

Hunger was exactly what Hannibal showed him. Hannibal's lips were crushing, kissing at him as if Will was the very air Hannibal needed to live, while Will was struggling to get his back. 

Teeth nipped at Will's bottom lip, pulling at it and making Will's head spin. Or maybe it was the pressure to his neck that was making the edges of his vision spotty. 

The bite was sharp and Will could taste the faint hint of copper before Hannibal's tongue wiped it away. 

"You taste as sweet as I imagined you would," Hannibal whispered against Will's now swollen lips. Will moaned as the words pushed into his body and made his insides squirm. 

Will blinked several times as he tried to ground himself and found his hands clinging to Hannibal's arm like a life reserve. Hannibal placed another kiss to Will's lips and released him, letting the tense grip on his neck go. Hannibal looked over his hand and scolded himself. 

He would have to be more careful with his play things. His grip had been too tight. He could have hurt his toy. 

No. Will wasn't a toy. Will was Will and that was how he was going to stay. Hannibal would make sure of that. He just needed to keep himself in check. 

With one more small kiss, Hannibal got to his feet, holding Will's shirt in his hands. He held out his hand and a dazed looking Will took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

Hannibal helped him put on his shirt, gentle around Will's shoulder and straightened the collar of the shirt before turning Will around to begin buttoning the fabric. 

"Hannibal?" Will asked softly. "If I have been out for months, why are my stitches still in? I-I know you're the doctor, but I only had my stitches in my stomach for a week or two." 

Hannibal finished his work with the shirt buttons before he met Will's gaze and caressed his face with a hand. 

"You continued to rip at them," he explained. "They can be taken out today if you would like them to be. I was going to wait until tomorrow. I have to go out today, but there is always time for you." 

Will gave a slightly confused expression as he tried to piece together all of the information that was given to him. Some of it he stored away to contemplate once this conversation was done. 

"Where are you going?" Will asked, a sense of panic in his voice that Hannibal did not miss. 

Hannibal's eyes hardened, but his face stayed gentle in its expression. "I will be fine," he assured, hand lowering from Will's face. "I simply need to do some shopping. I won't be long. Only an hour or two." 

Will lowered his gaze to the floor. He didn't want Hannibal leaving and not just because he wanted Hannibal by his side continuously. 

"What if they find you?" Will questioned, a hand rubbing at his lips as copper began to fill his mouth once more from the skin Hannibal had broken. 

Hannibal watched Will's anxious movements for a moment longer before he took a step closer and pulled Will into a hug, hand petting down his curls that were mostly dry. "No one will find me. I'll be back before you know it." 

"If you insist on going, I want to come." Will's voice was strong and Hannibal sighed. 

He wouldn't be able to convince Will otherwise. “I would much rather you stay here and rest. We shouldn’t be overloading your senses and my kissing you was not in your favor,” Hannibal tried anyways. It really was better if Will stayed. Will would stay safe. 

Will shook his head against Hannibal’s chest. “I want to come with you. We’re conjoined, remember?” 

“So we are,” Hannibal relented, pulling Will a little tighter. He was going to have to make sure that he kept a careful eye on Will while they were out. They couldn’t risk anything and the two of them being together was far more dangerous than just the one of them. Not to mention that Freddie Lounds had been doing a marvelous job of keeping their story alive on Tattle-Crime even if the main news outlets hadn’t. “Make sure you wear something warm. I don’t want you catching a cold. And I have a hat for you to wear as well.” 

Hannibal released Will and gave him a half smile before leaving the room to get ready himself. Will stared after Hannibal for a moment or two before going back to the dresser to where he had seen socks earlier and he left his mind to begin to dig through the little information he had at his disposal. 

It had been two months since the tumble into the Atlantic, but Will swore he could still feel the chill of the waves in his bones and the pain in his back from how he had landed. It must not have been as bad of a fall as he had imagined it to be, he was walking just fine now, though a bit stiff. 

With socks in hand, Will took to his bed to begin working them onto his feet, head tipped to the side as he slipped further into his thoughts. He had been tearing at his stitches? How badly was he doing that to make it so that he still had them in? Was that even something that he could do while in a coma? Was it a coma? Hannibal hadn’t been clear about it, but by Will's own lack of memories, he was making as many logical conclusions as he could. 

And Hannibal had said he was on a diet of broths and yogurts. Also not entirely impossible if he had been awake. He wasn’t sure if he could be on anything other than IVs if he was unconscious. Unless Hannibal had forced it down his throat like he had Abigail's ear, Will had to have been conscious at least for a little while. Was he so heavily drugged that he just couldn’t recall the interactions? That was possible as well, but for a whole two months? There had to be something that he could pick out of that time. Anything. 

Will got to his feet and went to the closet door, pulling it open with a natural swing to find several pairs of shoes stacked nicely at the bottom along with several nice coats that Will wouldn’t have ever picked out for himself. Will snatched up a pair of boots and a jacket, returning to his bed to put the shoes on. 

Will’s head snapped up and towards the living room where the playing of the piano had begun to ring out, notes deep and dark. Something sad and tragic and old. The name popped into his head as Hannibal’s voice reached out to him, humming instead of singing. 

Dido’s Lament. 

Will couldn’t stop his eyebrows from furrowing together in confusion and his movements stilling on his shoelaces. He was certain he had never heard the song before. Fairly certain that he didn’t know what a Dido was. And more than certain that he had never once heard Hannibal play or sing. 

He finished up his work and left the bedroom with the coat in his grasp, cautiously walking over to the piano with a faint feeling that Hannibal wouldn’t like to be interrupted, though he was once again unsure where the inference came from. 

Will waited patiently by Hannibal’s side, watching as his fingers tackled both the black and white glistening keys that Will couldn’t never dream of trying to understand. 

Hannibal glanced up from where he was playing, his fingers and voice pausing in their notes and he could see Will wince. Hannibal gave a fond smile. “You didn’t interrupt me,” he informed the empath before beginning to song again. “Sing for me?” 

Will snorted at the sudden suggestion and he looked around the room as if there would be another person there to save him, jacket now clutched to his chest. When he met Hannibal’s eyes, he could see that it hadn’t been a question or even a suggestion. It was a demand. 

“No,” Will said firmly, mouth suddenly very dry. Hannibal’s eyebrows rose at the rejection. “Absolutely not.” Will’s lips curved into a nervous smile, unsure of what else to do. “I don’t sing.” 

“I find your voice to be exceedingly pleasant,” Hannibal commented, playing some more of the melody that would normally be sung over the aria. 

“You’ve never heard me sing before.” Will tried to think back to a time when Hannibal would have heard him sing, but came up blank like most of his memories at the moment. 

“You used to sing along to the radio in the car,” Hannibal explained. Will blinked several times. He didn’t know that he did that, definitely not in the presence of another living soul. “Not loud. I doubt you even knew you were doing it.” 

“Even if you have heard me sing, I don’t know the song and it’s too high anyway,” Will continued on in his fight. He really just wanted to go do the shopping. He wanted to go outside despite the grey cloud cover. 

“Transposing is not a difficult thing to do, Will.” The music stopped and Will watched as Hannibal looked over the keys for a moment before his hands moved to several different notes and once again picked up the baroque opera in a much lower key now. 

Will sighed, eyes out of the window. He wasn’t going to win this battle. Hannibal always won and Will was positive that Hannibal would keep playing the piece until Will had sung it and wouldn’t take him to do the shopping until the song was fully played through and through.

“When I am laid,” Will began softly, unsure where he was pulling the words for the gruesome song from. “Am laid in earth.” 

“Louder please,” Hannibal supplied with a small nod of his head. “And please breathe correctly.” 

Will frowned and cleared his throat in the small break before repeating the opening lines once more with a bit more volume supplied to just make Hannibal happy. It was better to keep the man happy than be on the other side of his knife, though Will thought that if he weighed the two outcomes, refusing to sing a song probably wouldn’t get him cut. 

“Remember me,” Will pressed on, fingers tapping on his arm uncomfortably. “Remember me, but ah...” The notes twisted and turned in an odd pattern that Will’s voice seemed to maneuver with a sense of previous practice. He could remember no such practice though. “Forget my fate.” The lines repeated several more times over and Will sighed when it was finally finished. “Can we go now?” he asked impatiently while Hannibal was finishing the outro of the song. “Please.” 

“Do not be rude, Will,” Hannibal instructed, eyes firmly on the piano as fingers carried across the keys, finishing the depressing melody. “All good things to those who wait.” Hannibal lowered his hands and gave Will a small smile. “Thank you for indulging me.” He got to his feet and reached out to Will, who passed the jacket over and let Hannibal help him into the long winter coat. “You are no opera virtuoso, but your voice is far superior,” Hannibal whispered in Will’s ear, causing him to shiver. “Something much more innocent. Like the alter boys in Florence.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Dr. Lecter,” Will grumbled, pulling on the sleeves of the coat to make sure they weren’t bunched up with his long sleeved shirt underneath. 

“I’m a doctor now?” Hannibal teased as he went to the kitchen where several things were waiting on the counter. “Will you always refer to me by my medical degree when you are displeased with me?” 

“Only if it displeases you in return,” Will admitted before he could stop the words from coming from his mouth. 

Hannibal’s lips twitched into a smile. “Maybe next time you could sing Mozart’s Alleluia for me.” Hannibal grabbed the items from the counter and wandered back towards the piano that Will was still standing beside. 

Will frowned, once more seeming to be able to call the exact song to the forefront of his mind despite having never heard of the piece before. He wasn’t about to sing for him again. “I am not a castrato, Dr. Lecter. I would prefer not to be compared to one.” 

Hannibal gave an understanding nod, not arguing that castration was no longer practiced, much to Will’s thankfulness. He held out a pair of black framed glasses and Will quickly pulled them to him, glad for something familiar, no matter how small. He put them on his nose and blinked as everything came into a sharper focus than it was. He didn’t miss much without them. They were more for reading, but they often helped with his migraines and he could feel one starting and was sure it would get worse the longer he argued with Hannibal. 

Next, there was a cloth wrapped around the back of his neck and Hannibal went to work tying the scarf and tucking it into the winter coat before buttoning up the coat. And lastly was a hat that Hannibal positioned carefully, low over Will’s eyes to hide his face. 

Hannibal followed suit, adding a pair of gloves to his rather charming outfit with a jacket of the same price range as what Will’s was. “Are you going to be warm enough in that?” Hannibal asked as he tied his own scarf around his neck. 

Will licked his lips, the jab coming out naturally. “What are you? My mother?” 

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed on Will as he straightened his lapels, words flat and frank. “How would you know what a mother is like, Will?” 

Will’s eyes widened at the words that were shot back at him. Hannibal always had a comeback, always had to have the last word, and the last word would always sting. It cut deeply, something that Will had given to Hannibal in confidence used back at him. But Will had provoked Hannibal. Will knew what Hannibal was like. Will knew better than to poke a stick at the beast, but he still did it constantly. It was sometimes fun in all honesty, that was until it went this far and it made Will regret having picked the fight in the first place. 

Will took a step back as Hannibal moved closer, but didn’t fight as Hannibal placed a kiss to his lips. It was soothing, as if trying to quell the fire in his chest from the words that were still swirling around his chest and damn the man that it worked. Like ice on a burn, it worked. It dulled the pain until Will couldn’t feel it anymore. And Will knew better. Knew all of this was wrong, so fucking wrong. But he couldn’t stop. Hannibal owned him. 

“Let’s go. I called a cab,” Hannibal said after breaking the kiss. He went for a door that was next to the kitchen that Will had assumed was a pantry. Hannibal held the door open and waited for Will to pass through it before locking the door behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dido’s Lament: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ou8A0g_jYyA
> 
> Mozart’s Alleluia: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xyp-ysXGY8


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I picked the knife for a reason. Do you recognize it?” Will held it out for the man to see, the blood glistening in the dark. “It's the one you used on her. It’s fitting, isn’t it?” 
> 
> The letters continued in a jagged line on his other arm. M I S C H A. 

* * *

Will shivered in the winter cold, breath hanging deadly in the air as he walked with Hannibal through crowded New York streets. Hannibal’s steps were quick and Will found himself breathless trying to keep up with the man and not get lost in the crowds. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets as snow continued to fall, making the sidewalks slushy and the cuffs of his pants wet and in turn, him more cold. Will nearly ran past Hannibal in his effort to keep up as the taller man paused to look at the window of an antique shop. Will stumbled, breathing hard and stood next to Hannibal, trying to find what it was that had caught the killer’s eye. 

The window was cluttered with typewriters, tea sets that were missing pieces, clocks, some with shattered faces and stacks of old books. Will glanced over at Hannibal who’s gaze looked like it was focused further into the shop. Will tried to see past their reflection on the glass and into the shop that looked cozy and haphazardly thrown together, items strewn about the room. 

“I think we deserve a moment to warm up,” Hannibal muttered, taking Will’s hand in his and pulling him into the antique shop. The bell on the door rang, filling the small shop and making Will feel uncomfortable. He didn’t like that the door alerted there were customers. He would have rather that he could browse without being interrupted by the owner and slip out unnoticed if he didn’t find anything he liked. “Please look around,” Hannibal said as he pulled his gloves from his hands that had to be far warmer than Will’s frozen ones. “I will only be a moment.” 

Will watched as Hannibal maneuvered through the small spaces there were to walk with the grace of a dancer. Will was sure that if he attempted to make the same path, he would knock something over and break it. By the looks of the contents of the shop, he wouldn’t have been able to afford whatever he did break. 

Will stepped over to the bookshelf beside the window display, looking over the worn spines of the older books. His fingers trailed over the fabric of the books, pausing as his eyes caught on one. In gold, tarnished letters were scrawled across a burgundy fabric. _La Divina Commedia._

Will pulled it from the shelf and brushed the dust from its cover that had the same cursive lettering with the same words on it. The writing almost reminded him of Hannibal’s script. He let the book fall open to find thick and aged paper that was uncut at the edges. The words that greeted him were in Italian just as the front was. 

Will couldn’t read Italian, but he could pick out a few words here and there, just as he knew what the title of the book was. The Divine Comedy. European languages always had similar enough words that Will could pick and choose through them as he pleased, though he was much better at trying to read other languages than he was at trying to listen to them. 

“Can I help you find something?” a voice asked somewhere behind Will, causing Will to jump and turn. An older gentleman that was dressed like Mr. Rogers with white hair and a slight hunch to his back wore a smile in greeting. 

“I was just looking,” Will answered softly, closing the book. 

The man gave a small nod, but stepped closer. “Ah, I see you’re a lover of the classics,” he commented, a shaky and bent finger pointed to the book still held in Will’s hands. “That one is a wonderful read, but I would suggest not using it as a bedtime story.” 

Will’s lips quirked up in an awkward smile at the small joke, more out of politeness than anything else. Where was Hannibal? What was taking him so long? 

“I was actually...” Will trailed off. What was he doing? He had a small idea of what he had wanted to do with the book, but now it seemed foolish. “I was getting it for a friend. He would appreciate it more than me, I’m afraid.” 

“The man in the back?” the owner inquired, tipping his head to the side like a dog. Will gave a small nod. “He does seem the type, doesn’t he?”

“Excuse me?” Will asked, unsure what to make of the comment and looking behind the man for Hannibal to come and save him from the conversation. 

“The Divine Comedy?” the man asked with a smile. “Your friend seems like he enjoys Dante. His accent I couldn’t quite place, though. It’s a bit muddled. I’m sure it's because he’s traveled so much. That tends to happen when people know more than one language.” 

“I-I suppose,” Will muttered, a breath of relief coming from him as Hannibal rounded one of the many shelves of things in the shop. He gave an amused smile with bright eyes, obviously enjoying Will’s discomfort. 

“Are you ready to go?” Hannibal asked, releasing Will from the hold the shop owner had on him. Will nodded and the shop owner hobbled away from Will. “Let me just pay for this and we can be on our way.” 

Will followed the shop owner towards the front and went to stand beside Hannibal, huddling close into Hannibal’s side and receiving another entertained smile at his ineptness to handle social situations. 

“Did you find something you wanted?” Hannibal asked softly, eyes on the book still in Will’s hand. Will’s cheeks turned red as the weight of the book came back to his chilled fingers. Will lifted the book up and placed it on the counter next to a wooden box that Hannibal had in his possession. Hannibal eyed the back of the book and its worn deep red cover that was missing the dust jacket. 

Hannibal gave Will a kind smile and pulled his wallet from his pocket, digging through it for the cash that the shop owner had asked for. Will couldn’t help but watch Hannibal’s hands work, staring at the stack of bills that were in the leather case. 

“I have some money from when my parents passed away,” Hannibal explained as he caught Will’s gaze on him. 

“Some?” Will questioned with a light scoff. 

“Not in present company,” Hannibal instructed, reminding Will of the social construct that discussing money in public was not appropriate. “We will discuss it later.” 

Will nodded and was silent for the rest of the transaction, nodding in agreement at Hannibal’s _thank you_. Will took the bag that had his book in it and Hannibal led him from the shop with a hand at the small of his back. 

The cold air assaulted Will’s face, making his cheeks go red and an immediate chill rush through his body. Hannibal sighed beside him, pushing the bag with the wooden box into Will’s hands. 

“I told you to dress warm,” he said softly, pulling his gloves from his pockets. He held them out to Will who hesitantly took them and gratefully slipped them on, the fur lining caressing at his icy fingers. “Next time, you will listen to me, right?” 

“It’s colder here than in Virginia,” Will muttered, wiggling his fingers in their new confinement. His eyes jumped back up to Hannibal and he watched with an open mouth as Hannibal pulled his coat from around himself. “I don’t need-”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal argued, straightening the light sweater and scarf he was wearing. He stepped behind Will and helped Will slip into the coat that was larger than his own, Hannibal’s warmth quickly sinking through the layers and into his skin. “We’re nearly to the farmer’s market and then we can get a cab back.” 

Will nodded, handing Hannibal back the bag that belonged to him. “You know, you didn’t have to buy me this,” Will muttered, motioning to the bag in his hand. Hannibal took Will’s arm without a word and guided him through the crowd, further down the street and into a slightly stronger snow that was finally beginning to stick. 

“You wanted it,” Hannibal offered. “And I have no issue with money.” 

“You said your family left you some?” Will pressed, curiosity winning out and not allowing Will to wait until they got home. 

Hannibal gave him a disapproving look, but indulged Will all the same. “When I was eight, my family was murdered.” Will’s brows furrowed as he let the words make a place in his mind that was strictly for Hannibal. His own little room in Will’s mind palace that was sparse and needed more to fill it. And he already knew the outlines of Hannibal’s past, but now he could add more to the file. “My sister and I hid for several days until the group caught up to us.” 

“Group?” Will asked softly. He had always pictured a single assailant. 

“There were six of them, if I recall right,” Hannibal answered with a nod. “It’s the one part of my life that I don’t fully recollect in vivid details.” They stopped at a parking lot that had been cleared for the farmer’s market. There were stalls of produce, mostly vegetables that were green and leafy, or items like potatoes. Will was impressed that there was so much for how cold the time of year was. Hannibal pulled him into the stalls that had people adding items to bags and baskets. “They killed my sister and fed her to me in a soup.” 

Will grimaced at the idea, a distaste in his mouth at the idea and how traumatizing it was. But anything he could learn about Doctor Hannibal Lecter, he would take. Anything to help him understand the man under the monster. 

“I was mute for a long while after that. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I began to speak again,” Hannibal continued, stopping at a stall and looking at some of the produce, hands that were red from the cold, reaching out to pick some of it up. “I’m not sure what the motive for killing my family was.”

He set the item down and pulled Will along to another booth for him to look over. Will watched his face carefully, trying to figure out what Hannibal was thinking about. His past certainly, but he also wore the expression he always had on when he was thinking of what to prepare for a meal. Two trains of thought living together in his mind, both equally focused on. 

“I would assume it was robbery. My father was a count, my mother a countess. We had extensive art collections in the castle as well as pure silver and gold trinkets and expensive first editions of books. It was all vastly medieval.” Hannibal pulled his wallet from his pocket and held out some money to a Asian looking woman who smiled and took the money, adding the greens to a bag before passing them over to Hannibal to take. Hannibal, with a hand to Will’s elbow, pushed him further through the crowds. 

“You grew up in a castle?” Will questioned, looking over Hannibal for any hint of emotion, but he still looked just as determined on dinner as ever. Will gave a small laugh, calling Hannibal’s gaze to him. “No one grows up in castles.” 

“It has been in my family for generations, since it was built in 1415,” Hannibal explained. 

“I want to see it.” Will wasn’t sure where the notion had come from. He had found the Lecter’s estate that he thought was large, but it must have been a servant quarters or something of the sort that he had visited when he was in Lithuania. 

Hannibal had stopped walking and Will glanced up to see a slightly pained expression creasing the older man’s forehead. Emotional pain was something Will didn’t see often from Hannibal. The night he had been gutted had been the first time and it was still as strange now as it was then. 

“I’m afraid that is somewhere I would much rather leave to memories at this time,” Hannibal whispered, starting walking again towards another small venue. Will stumbled as he tried to keep up, legs growing tired now with all of the walking that he wasn’t used to. Hannibal bought a few more things, the bags held on his forearms instead of passing any of them to Will. “All of my family’s money was put into a trust. When I was eventually adopted by my aunt and uncle, they left me in their will as well when they both passed away. They had whisked me away to France and my uncle encouraged my art as a way of speaking when I didn’t have a voice. And they took me to see all sorts of things. That’s how I fell in love with Florence.” 

“They sound like they were nice,” Will commented, letting himself be pulled from the farmer’s market now that Hannibal was happy with his groceries and led towards what looked like a small cafe, somewhere where Hannibal could get warm now that Will had stolen all of his clothing. 

“They were very kind people. When they passed, the money went into a trust as well. One that I couldn’t access until I was 21,” Hannibal said as he held the door open for Will to enter the small building. The warmth of the cafe let Will inhale deeply for a breath he hadn’t realized he had been missing. He pulled off his gloves and shoved them into Hannibal’s coat pocket before pulling Hannibal’s coat off and handing it back to Hannibal who was, still with a never missing touch, shepherding Will towards a booth. Will took a seat and Hannibal set the bags down in the booth beside Will. “I’ll be back in a moment. And do not look in my bag.” 

With that, Hannibal went to the counter to order and Will glanced curiously over the bag from the antique shop that Hannibal had placed beside him. It was tempting to disobey Hannibal’s orders. He hadn’t been too horribly intrigued with the item that Hannibal had purchased, but with the looming expectation of his obedience, Will wanted nothing more than to investigate. 

Luckily, Hannibal returned and took his seat on the opposite side of the booth, hands clasped on the table top, eyes as warm looking as the cafe they sat in. “You didn’t look, did you?” There was a hint of teasing in his tone. 

“No,” Will answered with a small smile of his own, this conversation much more pleasant than their earlier conversation before they left the apartment had been. “And what did you do after your aunt and uncle passed?” 

“I went to school. From a young age my father had been teaching me everything he could. Languages, maths, sciences. And I read every book I could get my hands on. Old texts passed down in my family, classics. I found myself mostly entertained by the tragedies of old. Shakespeare was a fond pastime until I could fully read in other languages. Stories should always be enjoyed in their original texts.” 

Will’s hand instinctively touched the bag that held the book in it, the hint of a smile coming to his face. Maybe he had succeeded in picking something that Hannibal would like. 

“I graduated early and was the youngest person accepted into medical school in France.” Hannibal paused as a young waitress, who looked like she was just barely scraping by to pay bills, came to their table, placing two cups of coffee onto the tabletop. Hannibal gave her a smile that he saved for when he was dealing with anyone in customer service. “Thank you.” 

She nodded and let them be. Hannibal took his cup and smelled at it as he always seemed to do, before taking a sip. Will followed, the cup warm in his hands and he could only imagine that the warmth was defrosting Hannibal’s fingers. 

“Are you bragging to me, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked in a low voice with a smirk, setting his coffee back down. 

Hannibal gave a soft chuckle. “Not at all. You wanted to know.” His face became more serious. “Are you wanting to know more? It might make you hate me more than you already do.” 

Will frowned at the idea. He wasn’t sure what came next in Hannibal’s life, but he wanted to know. This man was so wrapped in mystery and now that he was opening himself up to Will, Will wanted to take all he could, just as Hannibal always took. It was Will’s turn and Hannibal’s to give. Quid pro quo. It was a motto that Hannibal lived by and now Will was going to cash his chips and get what he was owed. 

“I want to know. How did you end up in Baltimore?” Will asked with a small nod. “I know what getting into your mind entails.” 

“Very well.” Hannibal took another sip of his drink and licked at his lips before he took a deep breath, eyes firm on Will’s. “I ran across my family’s killers.” 

“Oh,” Will whispered, hands stretching out across the table top, eyes on the wooden grains. “I’m assuming that each one was met with the same fate as your family?” 

“The one that fed me my sister was a special case,” Hannibal acknowledged in a low voice. “Her name will forever be carved into his skin. He better remember it, the monster.” Hannibal rubbed a hand over his mouth with an angry breath through his nose, eyes alight and terrifying. 

Will tipped his head to the side at the words, reaching out and taking Hannibal’s other hand in his with a gentle squeeze. Hannibal’s eyes flickered from their hands and up to his face, softening at Will’s concerned look. 

Damn his empathy. Hannibal was the real monster here, not that what those men did was justified in any way. Will was sure they deserved exactly whatever Hannibal had decided to deal them, but for Hannibal to think of someone else as a monster and not himself was an interesting concept. But anything could be rationalized away. 

And he understood the anger. He understood what it felt like to want revenge for something that was cruelly ripped away from you. Abigail was one of those things. He could forgive Hannibal for a lot, it was in Will’s nature, but Abigail would never be one of them. 

Will closed his eyes, letting himself slip into Hannibal’s memories, recreating them. In his mind, a pendulum swung in darkness. He waited until the pendulum was still, the hustle and bustle and hum of his own identity and emotions now quieted. 

Eyes opened and a Parisian night greeted him. The city was bright with lights and tourists chattered as they walked about, out much later than was normal for the locals. At the end of the street was a man, one familiar and afraid. 

“He knows who I am,” Will said as he keeps his pace steady enough not to lose the man in the mazes of twisting streets. “He recognizes my face, though I’m older now.” The man continued to glance over his shoulder and at Will’s quickening steps, he broke into a run. “He doesn’t know these streets like I do.” 

Will dashed after the man and turned down the more deserted alley that the past phantom had mistakenly chosen. He wouldn’t have many more turns before he would find himself at a dead end. 

“I’ve waited too long for this moment,” Will panted as he willed his feet to move faster, carrying him in a sprint now. “I’ve planned this for years and I will not let him get away.” 

Will turned what he knew was a final corner to where the large and towering apartments would have created a blockade, much to the man’s chagrin. Will pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open with a half grin. 

“He is afraid. Good. Maybe now he knows how my sister felt. How I felt.” Will took a step forward, breathing hard from his run, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him on his toes. He felt alive for the first time in years. There was finally something worth living for, even if just for a moment. “I attack first,” Will continued, racing forward and colliding with the man, tackling him to the ground. “His head hits the pavement and leaves him dazed.” 

Will’s hand pressed over the man’s mouth, holding so tightly that he would leave bruises. He pinned the man’s arms down with his knees as he sat on the man’s chest, making him unable to move. The knife pressed into the man’s cheek first and his eyes were wide as a cry filled the night. 

“Shh,” Will hushed with a toothy grin. “You didn’t let my sister cry when you killed her. No noise now.” Blood flowed dark in the moonlight as the knife made its first carving into the man’s cheek. “M,” Will hissed through his teeth, reveling as the man’s eyes brimmed with tears as he stayed quiet. “I.” The man whimpered as the knife pushed deeper than the first letter. “ S. C.” 

Will’s fingers were slick with blood, the knife slipping. But he wasn’t done yet. He wouldn’t be done until he knew exactly what was taken from him. He would know her name. It would be the only thing he would remember while he died in the middle of a Parisian street. 

“H.” Will’s teeth gritted together as he struggled to make markings against the man’s cheekbone. Another cry. “Shh,” Will hushed once more, other hand caressing the man’s hair back. “I promise it will only hurt as much as she did.” The knife continued its dance over skin, eliciting liquid darkness to pool on the pavement. “A.” 

Next was his arm, at the wrist. Will twisted himself so he could grip the flailing limb and pin it down. The M came first. And then the I. 

“He won’t bleed out right away,” Will said through clenched teeth, other hand taking hold of the man’s throat and pressing down hard enough to make his vision blur, S, but not let him pass out. C. “I’m cutting across his vein, not down it.” H. “He will live for another 10 to 15 minutes. Long enough for me to make sure he can feel everything I want to inflict without him able to move.” A. 

“I picked the knife for a reason. Do you recognize it?” Will held it out for the man to see, the blood glistening in the dark. “It's the one you used on her. It’s fitting, isn’t it?” 

The letters continued in a jagged line on his other arm. M I S C H A. 

“This has shaped me. A knife is personal. You have to be close. You have to want to injure and kill to use a knife. A gun is rude,” Will whispered, the man now too weak to be moving. Will got to his feet and walked around his prey, deciding what to do next. “A knife-”

“Will,” a sharp voice said, breaking up his thoughts. Will jumped, breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest as he blinked. His eyes flickered around the cafe, trying to ground himself and remember how he had gotten there. “Will,” the familiar voice said again. Will met maroon eyes and it all slammed back into him. His name was Will Graham, he was in a cafe on the north side of New York and he was with Hannibal. “We need to go.” 

Will rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, with a small nod. “Why?” he got out as Hannibal pulled him from the booth and shoved several bags into his arms. Hannibal nodded behind him and Will turned to look out of the fogged window of the shop. A dark form stuck out against the heavy snowfall, bringing Will just as much anxiety now as he had whenever the man entered his classroom and dismissed his class early to pull him away to a crime scene, each one worse than the last. “Jack,” Will whispered. 

Will’s hand was snatched up and Hannibal pulled him towards the front of the cafe as Jack Crawford wandered his way into the small coffee shop, stomping the snow from his feet at the door. 

Will followed after Hannibal, past the counter where the barista gave a confused look as Hannibal pushed open the door to the kitchen. Will didn’t pay the girl much mind as she raced after them. 

“Hey, you’re not allowed back there,” she called after them, surely calling Jack’s attention. 

“Will, when we reach the street, run back towards the antique shop. There’s more people there. You’ll be safer,” Hannibal instructed, hand still holding tightly to the empath’s. “I will meet you at the shop.” 

“You’re not going to kill-” 

Hannibal cut Will off abruptly with a dark voice. “No.” He pushed open the back door and shoved Will out into the snow. “Now go.” Will gave a small nod, adjusting the bags of shopping on his arms as he went for the street. 

Hannibal closed the door behind him and made his way back through the kitchen and to the cafe. He lifted the collar of his coat up to hide his face as best he could, but if he was seen then he was ready to run. He had wandered these streets enough to know where he was going and New York was a much more pleasant layout than either Paris or Venice were. 

He passed by Jack who was yelling at the barista, badge out on the counter, demanding to know who the men that had quickly left were. Hannibal went back to the table, wiped at the table top with his sleeve swiftly before snatching up the two cups that they had been drinking from and taking them with him as he left the small cafe, leaving Jack’s shouting voice behind him. If Jack hadn’t noticed him, then there would be no evidence they were there. No fingerprints, no DNA. Nothing. 

Hannibal dumped the two cups in a trash can as he walked down the street in the opposite direction of the shop he had told Will to go to, shoving his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t long before he heard a door crash open behind himself, but he didn’t turn around, just kept his steps steady into the billowing snow. 

He just had to keep Jack away from Will. Will would be safe even if Hannibal wasn’t there. He had given their apartment address and some spare cash to Will in the cab ride. Will would be fine. Will was always fine and Hannibal would be keeping his promise. 

“Hey you!” Jack’s booming voice called after Hannibal. 

Hannibal continued to ignore the interaction until he could hear shouts of anger from people being pushed aside by Jack. He rounded the corner and as soon as he was clear, broke into a run down the road that wasn’t quite as slick with snow as the sidewalks were. 

“Dr. Lecter!” Jack shouted, voice closer than Hannibal thought it would be. 

Hannibal gave a huff of air in annoyance as he shoved his way through a group of college girls that were huddled together to stay warm. Jack didn’t give up. The man would outlive god. Hannibal had given it his best shot to be rid of the man, but Jack wasn’t stupid. He didn’t pull that glass shard from his neck. That had been the only reason he was still alive. 

Hannibal pulled at the scarf as he ran, untangling it from his neck as his body grew warm from the effort he was putting forth. WIth the fabric now caught tightly in his fist, Hannibal turned yet another corner, the blaring of a horn and the screeching of brakes being slammed catching him off guard. 

A sharp pain kicked into Hannibal’s legs, knocking him from his feet and onto the hood of the car. A blinding heat pushed its way into his vision as his head slammed against the windshield. 

The moment took an eternity. Before Hannibal had a chance to put much thought into what had happened, he was on his knees with a hand clutching a handful of his coat collar. He was pulled to his feet and greeted with a fist to his face. The impact was sharp and sent Hannibal falling back to the wet road. 

“I have to say,” Jack’s voice said, the tone of it muffled as Hannibal’s ears rang. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter was the last thing I thought I would see while on vacation.” 

Hannibal inhaled deeply, spitting blood from his mouth as he rose to his knees, eyes meeting a fuzzy FBI agent. 

“A holiday does sound lovely,” Hannibal commented, tongue flicking out to wipe at the blood that was training down his chin from a busted lip. 

“Where’s Will?” Jack questioned as he looked around. 

“Dead.” 

Jack gave a hearty laugh that sent vapor into the air. “I saw both of you in the cafe. Where did he go?” Hannibal let a smile pull at his lips until his bloody teeth shone brightly. Jack’s smile fell and he cursed. “You were the distraction.” 

“Clever,” Hannibal commented. “I don’t know why you need Will when your own perception skills are so sharp.” 

Jack huffed with a small laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. Hannibal took the man in, eyes stopping at the gun that was held tightly at Jack’s side. Maybe this was his out. If he could move fast enough. The stiffness hadn’t rested into his muscles yet, though he knew he was going to be sore in a good hour's time from the wreck he had caused, whose driver looked more interested in what was going on than yelling about the damage to his car. 

“Are you visiting family, Jack?” Hannibal questioned, letting the scarf loosen from his hand just slightly. 

“Some of Bella’s family,” Jack supplied with a small nod. “How long until Will comes looking for you, Dr. Lecter?” 

“I doubt he will.” Hannibal spit again, his blood mixing with the dirty snow around his knees. “He’s an obedient puppy, isn’t he Jack?” Another loosening of the scarf. “He will lick your shoes clean if you promise him clarity of mind.” 

Jack frowned, shifting his stance slightly. “I’m sure he’s used to spending Christmas alone,” Jack taunted, making Hannibal scowl. “And I am sure he is better off without you.” Hannibal’s eyes sharpened on Jack, who was stepping a bit closer. “You know that he doesn’t feel for you, right? He’s an empath. It’s a mental disability. He doesn’t actually care.” 

“Will and I might be used to a lonely holiday, but how will Jack Crawford feel during his first Christmas without his wife?” Hannibal could play this game. His tongue was sharp and barbed like the devil. It was a game he was used to playing at. “Am I right to assume that you haven’t decorated? That was something you would do together. The tree, the lights, the baking. The house doesn't smell the same, does it Jack?” He could see Jack’s gaze darken and he took another step closer, exactly what Hannibal needed. “There’s no music playing while cookies are being made.” 

“Shut up!” Jack ordered, hand holding the gun raising. 

Hannibal snatched up the other half of his scarf and wrapped it around Jack’s arm, pulling him forward and using his shoulder to leverage the gun from Jack’s grip. The gun clanked to the ground and Hannibal scooped it up before twisting Jack’s arm up and back. Jack groaned, but stayed still. It would be so easy to break his arm. Hannibal even considered doing it, going far enough as to push on Jack’s arm and pulling a painful cry from the FBI agent. It would buy him time, that was for sure. 

With a deep breath, Hannibal shoved Jack forward and tumbling into the street, gun pointed at the man’s head as he took several steps backwards. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t follow me,” Hannibal said, stepping further back. “If the gun isn’t enough of a motivation, please think back fondly on our friendship.” 

With those words, Hannibal turned away and raced up the street, turning back the way he had come, not stopping for a moment. He wasn’t sure if Jack would stay behind with his now lost scarf, but he didn’t care. He had the gun. He controlled the situation. 

His legs carried him through twists and turns until he found himself in front of the antique shop where Will was waiting for him, hat no longer on his head, curls holding snowflakes in them. Any other time Hannibal would have stopped to appreciate the simple view, but he seized Will’s hand and yanked the man along. 

“What happened to you?” Will asked as Hannibal pulled him into the street and through traffic where he watched as Hannibal tossed a gun into a mailbox. Will’s brow furrowed. “Hannibal, you’re bleeding.” 

“We will worry about that when we get home. We can’t stay here,” Hannibal said, voice determined. “I promised to keep you safe and that is what I am going to do.“


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is one fight I am not going to let you win because you know that I’m right.” 
> 
> “When do you ever let me win any fights?” Will rubbed at his face, fingers trailing over his new scar down his cheek. 
> 
> “Quite often unless you upset me.” 
> 
> “Have I upset you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the translations at the end of the chapter. If you would rather them be up next to what Hannibal says, please let me know so I can make sure it's updated. Thanks!
> 
> Vedrò con mio diletto: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzF11RsxcWg  
> Sebben Crudele: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cj64UzeprI4

* * *

Vivaldi poured from the small radio that Hannibal had turned on the moment that they had returned home. Will listened curiously as Hannibal explained the song to him. 

“ _Vedrò con mio diletto_ ,” Hannibal said as he put the groceries onto the counter, any idea of dinner long forgotten. Will tipped his head to the side, taking in the beautiful words that he didn’t understand. Will moved into the kitchen as a very light and high voice began to sing. He grabbed a dish towel and wet it in the sink before moving over to Hannibal. 

“What does it mean?” Will asked, tipping Hannibal’s face to look at him. He pressed the cloth to Hannibal’s chin and began to clean the blood that had dried there. Will did his best not to put too much attention on the way that Hannibal’s composure was cracking. Hannibal’s hands that were normally stone steady were trembling and his breathing was erratic. 

“I will see with joy,” Hannibal replied, voice weak. “This is Polish singer Jakub Józef Orliński.” Will blinked several times, trying to understand the jumble of syllables that were thrown at him. “He is a countertenor.” 

Will gave a nod as if he understood what that meant, anything to get Hannibal back to his steady self. It was unsettling how a man who could kill with total efficiency without his heart beat rising couldn’t process having seen Jack Crawford. But then again, Hannibal hadn’t explained what had happened and before Will could ask, Hannibal continued on. 

“It’s from Vivaldi’s opera, Giustino.” 

“How do you remember all of this?” Will questioned, moving from Hannibal’s split lip to his forehead. Hannibal winced as Will pressed the towel to his skin and Will frowned. “Sorry.” 

“It’s in my mind palace,” Hannibal explained, letting Will take his cheek with one hand and hold him in place while he tried to clean the mess with the other. “Opera has always been very prominent in my life. My aunt would listen to it and sing while she cleaned the house on Sundays. She would teach me about each song that played and I remember the smile she wore one time when I recalled a song she had told me about when it came on the radio while we were out shopping. Ever since then I have stored all of that information away. A force of a very old habit than a need I’m afraid.” 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Will asked, tossing the towel aside now that Hannibal’s face was clean. 

“I got hit by a car. I’m alright.” 

That would explain it. Will sighed, pulling his glasses off and putting them on the counter before glancing over Hannibal. The rip in his slacks, the limp in his walk, the unsteadiness of his actions and words. Getting hit with a car would shake anyone up and Will was just grateful that Hannibal didn’t look too badly shaken up from it. 

“And Jack?” 

“He is fine.” 

Hannibal moved past Will and went for the bar. Will followed and watched as Hannibal poured a quivering glass of wine, nearly missing the glass all together. Will was at a loss of what to do exactly. Hannibal had always been so strong and now that he was cacking Will had to wonder if maybe the man had finally had enough. And Will wanted to help, but he wasn't’ sure what he could do or say that would be of any comfort. How did you comfort a man who wasn’t afraid of anything? 

The song changed on the radio and Will stepped closer to Hannibal. Maybe conversation was just something the man needed. Maybe Will could use music to calm him? It was worth a shot. 

This time a woman was singing, her vibrato pronounced strongly. 

“What is this song?” Will asked, now beside Hannibal, watching as the man downed the glass of wine like a shot rather than thoughtfully sipping on the contents of the glass. Will winced at the action. Something was so wrong. 

“ _Sebben Crudele_ ,” Hannibal replied with a deep breath. “It’s from Caldara’s opera _La costanza in amor vince l'inganno,_ though I’m not sure who is singing. I don’t recognize the voice.” 

“And what were all of the random words you just spouted off to me?” Will questioned, trying to give Hannibal a kind smile. 

“Faithfulness in love conquers treachery.” Hannibal gave a nod at the translation. “It’s Italian as was the previous song.” 

“And how many languages do you know?” Will asked curiously, cautiously taking the glass from Hannibal’s hand and setting it atop the bar, pulling him back to the kitchen. “Help me put the food away,” he instructed gently. 

“Lithuanian,” Hannibal began, letting himself be pulled back to the kitchen where their bags were still waiting on the counter to be dealt with. He quickly made himself busy, turning off the radio and pulling items from the bags and putting them in the fridge. “German, Danish, Swedish, English, French, Italian...” Hannibal trailed off and Will paused in his work to watch the man at the fridge who was lost in thought. “My aunt taught me a little Japanese, but I don’t know enough to call myself fluent.” Will opened his mouth once more to ask another question, but Hannibal’s eyes met his, eyes shielded over and no longer panicked, back to their average emotionlessness. “What did you see, Will?” 

“What do you mean?” Will stepped over to the fridge and put the last of the produce away, letting Hannibal close the fridge. 

“In the cafe,” Hannibal explained, a hand resting at the small of Will’s back so that Will couldn’t escape. “You went into your own head.” Will gave a nod. “And what did you see?” Will looked down to his shoes, licking at his lips. A hand at his chin forced him to look back up into deep amber eyes. His back pressed into the fridge as Hannibal stepped closer. “Did you kill Grutas? Chased him down and used a knife?” 

Will gave a small nod. “It was his own knife, wasn’t it?” 

Hannibal’s eyes flashed dangerously as he leaned in closer to Will. “Yes.” 

“And did you start with his face?”

“Yes.” 

“And then his wrists?” 

Hannibal smirked at that. “Severed his .” Hannibal released his hold of Will and stepped back, towards the last two bags on the counter, the two from the antique shop. “Tell me Will, did you enjoy it?” 

“Yes,” Will gasped out, wishing that the words coming from his mouth weren’t the truth. It was sick, it made Will want to run. There was something so wrong in his mind, but that was the part that Hannibal seemed to love. The broken, hurt, confused and manipulated part of him. The part of him that was most like Hannibal. 

“I did too.” 

Hannibal took the bag with the wooden box in it into his hand and went for his bedroom, only stopping when Will called after him. 

“What happened next?” 

Hannibal gave his full attention to Will, words calm and collected. “One stubborn detective knew it was me, but without enough evidence, they couldn’t do anything to me. The name was the only connection. No one knew who killed my family, only Chiyoh when I told her. The man she held captive was not who directly killed my sister. He was a groundskeeper who sold us out for money.” Hannibal licked at his lips, tongue playing with the intruding split for a moment before he pressed on in his story. “I couldn’t stay any longer. Not with the suspicion I was under. So, I came to America. My drawings helped me obtain a scholarship at John Hopkins. I worked in the ER while I studied to become a citizen. Passed the citizenship test, lost my first patient during a surgical procedure and left to study psychiatry. That is how I ended up in Baltimore.” 

“Hannibal, why did losing the patient make you leave the ER?” Will asked, trying to gain any more information he could. As long as Hannibal was still willing to give, then Will was still more than ready to take. “Why did it bother you so much?” 

Hannibal was silent for a moment and Will could see him weighing the question in his mind. It was obviously the first time he had ever been asked something of the sort. Maybe it wasn’t the first time, Will reasoned, but the first time from someone who knew more about Hannibal than anyone else ever could. 

“He was a good man,” Hannibal finally replied, turning away from Will. Will raced after Hannibal. 

“That’s it?” Will asked in disbelief. Was that all he was going to get? “You don’t kill good men?” 

“I remove pests that do not benefit society. I do not enjoy the thought of taking innocent lives any more than the next person, I am sure.” Hannibal pushed open the door to his room and placed the box on top of his dresser before moving to his closet to find a change of clothes. “There are pigs and there are people and there are people who get in the way. Nothing more.” 

“You knew him, didn’t you?” Will asked, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, unsure if it was safe enough to step into the room. Hannibal was calm and collected, but Will knew when he got on the man’s nerves and this was one of those times. He had to tread carefully. “You personally knew him.” 

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed, pulling his sweater over his head and then his undershirt that looked damp from their time out in the weather. “He was one of my mentors while I was at John Hopkins. He would let me live with him from time to time when my money was tight, before I was 21.” 

“I’m sorry Hannibal,” Will muttered, arms folded over his chest. 

“Me too...” the man whispered, looking over the items he had laid out on the bed to wear. “Will, go get a change of clothes. We’ll take your stitches out and then we need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

Will wasn’t exactly sure what Hannibal was referring to, but Will gave a nod, leaving the room. He went to his room and gathered some dry lounge wear that was from his home? Did Hannibal really have time to stop at each of their respective homes? How had he done that without the police being all over those houses? 

Will changed into the pants, warmer now that he was out of his snow damp clothes, leaving the shirt off as he left the room. He found Hannibal on the couch in the living room with a button up dress shirt on with the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows. 

Will sat on the couch beside Hannibal, looking over the tools that were across the coffee table, glinting in the dull late afternoon light. Will watched as Hannibal pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached for a pair of medical grade tweezers and thin scissors. 

“Come lay across my lap Will,” Hannibal instructed. “It will be easier for me to work.” 

Will swallowed and moved to do as he was told. Will could deal with a lot of things. He had seen a lot of things, but the idea of sharp objects close to his body made him want to run away, a callback to earlier stabbings and stitches. 

“We’ll start with your face.” 

Now with his head in Hannibal’s lap, Will’s eyes shut tightly and he turned his face and body so his stitches were upright for Hannibal to work. “Please,” Will muttered. “Be gentle.” 

Hannibal stopped, unsure where the sentiment had come from. Will had had stitches removed before. He knew what to expect, so why was there a scent of fear in the air around him? “It shouldn’t hurt Will,” Hannibal said kindly. 

“My other ones hurt. It felt like I was there for hours.” 

Hannibal bit his tongue at Will’s admission. Removing stitches could be uncomfortable. One still had feelings where they were. There would be pressure and maybe some discomfort, but never pain if they were removed correctly. 

“They didn’t do it right then,” Hannibal muttered, his accent nearly making it impossible for Will to understand him. “I promise this won’t hurt.” Will gave a small nod against Hannibal’s legs and Hannibal took it as permission to start. His tweezers picked at the first knot and pulled at it gently, creating enough space for him to cut the thread. He then pulled it free and felt Will immediately relax against him. “I keep my promises Will.” 

“What would have made the others hurt?” Will asked, causing Hannibal to freeze at the movement of Will’s face. 

“They might have pulled the stitching out the wrong way, pulling the knotting through,” Hannibal supplied, moving onto the next stitch. “It might have been a new nurse who was nervous or something of the sorts.” Hannibal made quick work of the stitches and leaned forward, placing a kiss to Will’s temple when he was finished. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked in a whisper in Will's ear. Will shook his head, enjoying the feeling of lips against his flushed skin. “Are you going to turn so that I can do the rest?” 

Will’s eyes stayed closed as he shifted himself so that his chest was more accessible. His breath was stolen from his lungs as a kiss was pressed to his lips. Without a thought, Will kissed back, hand reaching up to grab at the hair at the base of Hannibal’s neck to pull him closer. 

Hannibal pulled back and sat up with a satisfied twinge to his lips that made Will’s heart thud madly. His now free hand draped over his eyes, hoping that it would cover enough of his cheeks that Hannibal couldn’t see the color that was filling them. 

Hannibal went to work on the stitching at his shoulder, following the same process. “Will, we need to talk.” 

“About?” Will asked softly. 

“I meant it when I said earlier that we couldn’t stay here. We need to move on. Jack is going to be searching each and every building in the whole of New York to find us.” 

Will frowned. He hadn’t been here long, at least not long enough to remember anything, but he didn’t want to leave. The space was as familiar as a day could make Will feel. This was where he was safe. This was where Hannibal protected him when he couldn’t save himself. This was where words that had damned them were said in the open, begging that the other would understand. 

“When?” 

“As soon as possible,” Hannibal replied, his focus intense on his hands. “We can start packing tonight and leave by morning. I have another place already being paid for.” 

“Where?” Will mumbled, feeling the small swirl of anxiety in his chest. He wasn’t sure why he was so attached to this place, but there was something in these walls that spoke to him deeply and he didn’t want to lose that. 

“It’s a small cabin outside of the city. I’m sure you will enjoy it far more than living here.” Hannibal finished the last stitch and placed his tools back onto the coffee table, pulling off his gloves, but Will didn’t move. Hannibal took the opportunity to work on Will’s shoulder that Will hadn't let him do early. “There’s a stream you can go fishing in. I’m sure it's probably frozen over by now. It is mid-December.” 

Will hissed as fingers pressed into his shoulder, a deep knotted pain there, the muscles arguing against the intrusion of the massage. But Will knew better than to fight Hannibal. The muscles needed to be worked and the tissues broken up so that he would be able to have full range again. 

“Mid-December?” Will repeated through gritted teeth. “What’s the date?” 

Hannibal hummed for a moment in thought, dragging another moan of pain from Will as he pushed at the stubborn knot under Will’s skin. “The 22nd, I believe.” 

Will lifted his arm from over his eyes and looked over Hannibal’s face with his nose scrunched up. “The city wasn’t decorated, was it?” 

Hannibal’s fingers halted and he blinked once before looking down at Will. “Every corner and shop,” Hannibal answered, his task forgotten. He pushed Will’s arm aside and placed a hand to Will’s forehead, causing Will to roll his eyes. 

“I’m not sick,” Will muttered, pushing Hannibal’s hand away softly. 

“You’re warm,” Hannibal pointed out with a frown. “You don’t remember the tree in the shop? You were standing right next to it. Or in the cafe? The barista had on a distasteful holiday sweater.” 

Will sat up at that and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head and grumbling when he couldn’t get it any further. Hannibal didn’t hesitate to help Will pull the shirt on the rest of the way, though he was more than happy to notice that this was Will trying to avoid the question. 

“I don’t remember it,” Will finally whispered, head lowering into his hands as he tried to push back into the memories of the day to only find them spotted and cloudy at the edges at best. He remembered the cab ride and the shop that absolutely didn’t have a Christmas Tree in it. He remembered the book and the weird wooden box. Hannibal giving Will his coat. He could recall in vivid details everything that Hannibal had told him about his past. The farmer’s market and then the cafe. Jack was there, but there definitely wasn’t anything holiday related to his surroundings. Maybe Hannibal was just wrong with the date. Maybe it was mid-November instead. “I really don’t remember.” 

Hannibal bit at his bottom lip in thought before getting to his feet, using cleaning up his equipment as an excuse to go to his room. He dumped the things on his dresser and went to his desk, grabbing his black leather notebook, leafing through to an empty page and grabbing a pen to scribble down in it. 

_22, Dec._

_Will is having a memory relapse just as he did when we first arrived. He is omitting details from his thoughts. Possible fever may be the cause. Will have to verify in the morning whether memories are still intact or if-_

“Hannibal?” Will called from the other room. Hannibal stopped his writing and lowered his pen, closing the notebook at footsteps behind him. “What are you writing?” Hannibal turned just in time to see Will’s hand reaching out for the book. Hannibal snatched up his wrist and put himself between the two items. 

“It’s just a journal. Private,” Hannibal explained. It wasn’t a lie. It just so happened to be a journal all about Will. Fragile little Will Graham. “Please do not concern yourself with it.” Will gave a small nod, eyes still firmly on the black book. Hannibal glanced around the room, trying to come up with something that would pull Will’s attention from the notebook. “What did you buy at the shop today? Can I see it?” 

That seemed to work well enough. Will gave a nod with a small and warm grin, a real one that Hannibal didn’t think he showed the world nearly enough. Will was never as happy as Hannibal would want to see him, though Hannibal knew he was the reason for Will’s misery, but he couldn’t seem to let the man go. Hannibal was fairly certain that if he tried the little bird wouldn’t fly away from its cage anyway. 

Hannibal watched as Will left the room and turned back to his writing, opening his notebook again, pen back in hand. He skimmed his interrupted thoughts before continuing. 

_-he has forgotten again. May try hypnosis to bring forth previous memories. No further working theories at this time._

Hannibal closed his notebook and pushed it back into its home on his desk before leaving his room himself and heading into the main room where Will was standing by the counter, book in hand, finger’s gently caressing the page almost lovingly. His eyes left the page and flickered up to Hannibal for a moment before lowering back to the book, closing it. 

Hannibal couldn’t help the small amount of endearment that filled his chest at the nervous look on Will’s face. Will was so eager to please. Always so willing to give the world away and Hannibal would be lying if he hadn’t taken advantage of that aspect of Will with full knowledge. 

“Maybe I should save this for Christmas. It is for you, after all,” Will muttered, his voice small in the large apartment. 

“An early present,” Hannibal insisted, stepping closer. “It’s not very kind to make someone buy their own gifts, Will.” 

Will’s cheeks flushed, under the new scar, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. “I realized that I didn’t have any money. Just the cab fare you gave me. I can pay you back.” 

“I wouldn’t even think of such a thing.” Hannibal made his way to the kitchen, hand outstretched towards Will. Will placed the book into Hannibal’s hand and Hannibal took it, looking over the burgundy cover and swirling gold lettering. He hummed a note that Will couldn't exactly place, but he didn’t look disappointed. “ _La Divina Commedia di Dante Alighieri.”_

Will could at least figure that sentence out and he smiled at how smoothly Hannibal said the words. He didn’t know he could smile this much. There was just something so calming around this man. Despite everything between them, Will couldn’t help it. He knew better. He knew the tragedy that awaited him if he stayed tangled up in this man, but nothing was coming to save him and he honestly didn’t want to be saved. 

“I might have gotten it for a selfish reason,” Will admitted, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Hannibal was silent waiting for an answer, even though Will knew that Hannibal had already figured Will’s reasoning. “Read it for me?” 

“Are you wanting a translation?” Hannibal was now flipping through the first few pages to find where the first stanza began, catching Will shaking his head in answer. 

“Stories should always be enjoyed in their original texts, shouldn’t they?” 

Hannibal inhaled as his own words were once again spouted at him. He blinked several times, unsure of what exactly to say back to Will. It still stunned him how often Will could do that to him, and only Will. He always had razors for everyone else on his tongue, but Will could silence him so easily. His eyes found the first line of the poem and he decided that reading would be the best solution to his loss for words. 

“ _Inferno: Canto I. Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura che' la diritta via era smarrita_ ,” Hannibal started, making his way to the living room, Will following closely behind him. 

Hannibal took a seat on the couch, crossing his legs comfortably, book in his lap. Will sat beside him and pushed the book up, leaving a small bit of shock in Hannibal’s system as he laid his head across Hannibal’s lap, eyes closed. 

He was so much like a child, Hannibal noted as he let one of his hands play with Will’s unruly curls. His other hand rested against Will’s chest to help support the book, moving up and down with Will’s breathing. He gave his trust too easily. He relaxed into a killer’s grasp without a second thought when it would be so easy for Hannibal to end him. Suffocation would be the easiest, but the book was heavy. A corner would do some damage and bash in Will’s head. 

Hannibal pushed the thoughts away and continued to play with Will’s hair, eyes now back on the words that he knew all too well from many years of rereading them. 

“ _Ahi quanto a dir qual era e` cosa dura esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte che nel pensier rinova la paura!_ ”

* * *

“No,” Hannibal grumbled with an irritated sigh. Will laughed as Hannibal came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Will, taking his hands. “They have to be cut evenly or they won’t cook right.” Will’s heart beat madly in his chest as Hannibal’s chin rested on Will’s shoulder, hand’s guiding Will’s. “You use your fingers as your guide. The blade of the knife goes against your knuckles.” Will let the knife be pushed through the mushrooms, easily making the cuts even and equal. “See?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss against Will’s neck. Will shivered and squirmed free of Hannibal’s grip. 

“I can’t cook, Hannibal. You know this,” Will said with a small chuckle as he tried once more to slice the mushrooms up thinly. “I don’t know why you continue to insist that I help when anything I do will never compare.” 

Hannibal smiled at this, returning to his own preparation of the veal, making sure it was cut through and ready for when the filling would be ready to be added. Once finished, he glanced back at Will who was still messing with the mushrooms, knife hitting the cutting board with loud thuds. They would be here all night if Hannibal let Will do any more. 

He went over to the ingredients that were beside Will and pulled a new knife from the block, taking an extra cutting board and the cloves of garlic. Will stopped his massacring of the mushrooms and watched in interest as Hannibal placed the blade flat against the garlic and used his palm to smash the garlic against the cutting board. He did the same with the second clove, pulled at the layers he didn’t want and then went about finely mincing the garlic. 

“The mushrooms, Will,” Hannibal reminded as he moved onto the tomato that was still waiting to be cut up as well. 

Will looked back down at his own cutting board that was a mess. “How did you learn to cook? My dad taught me how to read directions on packages.” Will snorted at the memory. “Mac and cheese seems to be the only thing I can cook and get a compliment on. And that compliment was from my dad.” 

“It sounds like you and your father got along,” Hannibal tossed out. 

“When he wasn’t drunk, he was pleasant enough to be around.” 

“It sounds like the reading directions on the back of packages was a survival trait rather than a bonding moment,” Hannibal said, falling back into the normal chatter easily. “Do you resent him for that?” 

Will gave a huff and lowered the knife to the cutting board, turning to look at Hannibal with a frown. “We’re not doing this,” he said, setting the boundaries that he had never set with Hannibal. “You’re not my therapist. You don’t get to examine my head anymore.” 

Will was surprised at a nod from Hannibal in agreement. “You’re quite right. I’m sorry.” Will gave a small nod with a confused look before turning back to the mushrooms that were more mush than shrooms now. “I taught myself to cook,” Hannibal said, answering the earlier question. “It was a distraction while I tried to find where I should take my life next. Between surgery and psychiatry.” 

“And what are we having tonight that I have completely butchered beyond hope?” Will asked, stepping away from the cutting board. It was better off if he watched Hannibal work than try to help. He would just be in the way. 

“Spinach-stuffed Veal with Cumberland Sauce,” Hannibal explained. “A dinner that you declined to join.” 

“I didn’t picture you as eating meals over again.” Will leaned against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he watched the master at work, getting butter melted in a pan before adding the beautiful and uniform garlic and the mushrooms that Will had worked on into the pan. “Just like I’ve never seen you wear the same suit twice.” 

“I have favorites in both aspects.” Hannibal tossed the ingredients in the pan before setting it to cook, grabbing some salt and pepper and seasoning the food. “This happens to be one of them.” 

“With veal or the other?” 

Hannibal turned his back to Will, pulling spinach to him and washing it off in the sink. “Have you ever heard of William Seabrook, Will?” he simply asked. 

Will tipped his head to the side, trying to recall the name to memory, but came up empty. “No,” he answered after a moment. “Who is he? Or was he?” 

Hannibal smiled as he dried off the spinach with a towel. “He was before my time,” Hannibal explained. “I did not have the pleasure to dine with Seabrook, though we did share similar tastes.” Will gave a small nod to show he was listening when Hannibal glanced over at him. Hannibal went back to work, chopping the spinach up before moving back to the stove to flip the mushrooms once more. “He was a reporter for the New York Times, researching certain subjects for his book. A medical student friend procured for him human flesh, which he promptly cooked and ate.” 

Will shifted uncomfortably at the idea. It still sat wrong with him, all of it. He couldn’t understand the want or like of eating such a thing, despite the fact that he was certain he had feasted on flesh just the same. It was only natural that he had whenever he had had any meals with Hannibal that he didn’t contribute the meat to. 

Hannibal added the spinach and tomato to the pan, putting the cutting boards and used knives into the sink to be washed. Will’s eyes trailed over the man, the muscles in his arms as he scrubbed at the dishes. His shirt was still rolled up to his elbows, an apron around his waist, though Will doubted he would ever need it. His clothing was always spotless when Hannibal was done cooking. 

“He compared it to veal. I have to say that the similarities are there, though I would juxtapose that it more similarly relates to pork than cattle.” Will watched as Hannibal got out another pan and placed it on another burner, turning the burner on and melting more butter in it before adding some breadcrumbs to the butter. “Come stir this for me Will.” 

Will followed the instructions, taking the wooden spoon that Hannibal passed him and began to mix the butter and breadcrumbs together, watching as they slowly turned brown. He stepped aside as Hannibal added more salt and pepper to the mixture. 

“I have to point something out to you Will,” Hannibal said as he stepped behind Will, a hand resting on one of Will’s hips as he nuzzled his face into his curls. “You are cooking without looking at a package.” 

Will laughed. “I’m burning bread without a toaster is what I’m doing.” 

“Will you add those to the other pan, please?” Hannibal pressed a kiss into his curls and went to get the veal. Will obeyed and stirred the crumbs into the spinach and mushroom. “Take that off the heat.” Will picked up the pan and turned off both of the burners before taking the pan over to where Hannibal was salting and peppering the veal. He placed the pan on a hot pad and stepped out of the way once more to watch him work. 

“Do we have to pack after dinner?” Will asked softly, the thought having been stuck in his mind since Hannibal had said that was the plan. 

“As much as you want to stay, we have to go,” Hannibal said as he began to put the mixture into the veal with skilled fingers. “This is one fight I am not going to let you win because you know that I’m right.” 

“When do you ever let me win any fights?” Will rubbed at his face, fingers trailing over his new scar down his cheek. 

“Quite often unless you upset me.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“No,” Hannibal said simply. “We can come back here someday, but it's not safe now.” 

“Being on the run isn’t quite as fun as they make it seem in the movies,” Will grumbled, fingers now finding the scar that was across his forehead. Hannibal gave a nod. 

“You will get used to it after a while.” 

There was a sadness in his voice that Will couldn’t exactly place and Will couldn’t help but think that the words said were more trying to convince Hannibal than they were Will. Maybe someone could never get used to constantly moving, never having roots anywhere to hold yourself in place. But Hannibal had picked this life. He made the conscious choices to do what he did and he had to deal with the consequences it provided, and now Will was strung along. 

It was self-defense, Will could play that card just fine. It wasn’t a lie, but he liked what had happened. The pain was sweet and the blood was warm. The adrenaline was a drug and he felt like he understood why people would jump from planes or cliffs or waterfalls... There was a lot of jumping from high places, Will realized. He didn’t understand the height fetish people had. Falling from that cliff had done more to solidify Will’s fear of heights. 

That didn’t change the fact that killing was the sweetest high he had ever lived through. There was something in holding a person’s life in your hands. And maybe that was why Hannibal had gone into the medical practice. Surgeon was number five on the list. History had been riddled with Angels of Death, not that that was what Hannibal was. Hannibal defied classification, just as Will knew the serial killer wanted to. 

Hannibal showed some characteristics of a psychopath, but narcissism and occasional impairment of remorse and empathy was not enough to stick him into that filing cabinet either. Hannibal did have empathy when he wanted to, but it was an empathy

Hannibal wasn’t a sociopath. Will knew he was more classified in that category with where he landed on the scale. Being introverted didn’t make you suffer from ASPD, but that seemed more likely than the latter. 

Maybe it was a strange mix of PTSD and OCD that had become a deadly cocktail in Hannibal’s mind. All of his actions seemed to stem from his sister’s death. Or maybe it was Wendigo Psychosis. Will shook his head at the thought. That wasn’t right. Hannibal didn’t crave human flesh, he just enjoyed it. He didn’t need it. 

It had to be ASPD spurred on by PTSD. And he didn’t have all of the symptoms of ASPD, but the main ones where there, able to be turned on and off at a moment’s notice depending on the person suit Hannibal was attempting to put forward. 

Hannibal put the meat in the oven and wiped his hands off on his apron before untying it and putting it away. His eyes fell on a silent Will who was chewing on his lip, eyes on the floor, lost deeply in thought. 

Hannibal stepped over to him, hands taking his hips, but Will didn’t acknowledge the touch. “Come back to me, Will,” Hannibal whispered, resting his head against Will’s. It was happening again and Hannibal wasn’t sure he could go through another boxing match with Will’s mind and win again. It was painful to keep his composure when Will forgot. Today had been a good day, better than most, but Hannibal didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want Will to lose it and it always started with missing details and blackouts before the reset. “Will, don’t retreat to your mind,” Hannibal pushed again. “Please.” Maybe he should have let Jack find them. Jack could have gotten Will the real medical help that they needed, more than what Hannibal could give him. “Will Graham. Come back to me.” 

“Hannibal?” Will muttered with a deep breath. Hannibal leaned back enough to look over Will’s face. There was a deep etched confusion on his face and Hannibal held back the angry tears that wanted to fall. Will wouldn’t remember tomorrow. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” 

“About?” Hannibal asked, head leaning back against Will, wishing he could find what was damaging Will. But he would pretend everything was normal, as normal as it ever was. 

“You.” 

“Me?” Hannibal asked with an amused tone that Will found to be a little on the fake side, but he pushed it away. 

“What you are,” Will explained. 

“Ah,” Hannibal said with a nod, releasing his hold on Will and stepping away from him. “And your conclusion?” Hannibal made himself busy with beginning to wash the dishes that they had dirtied. 

“ASPD?” Will tried, making his way to Hannibal’s side to dry what Hannibal had finished washing. Will watched as Hannibal chewed on the words, head tipping from side to side as he mused. 

“And what brings you to that finding?” 

Will took the pan from Hannibal and ran a towel around the inside of it. “You do have a majority of the characteristics that go with it. Disregard for right and wrong, exploiting others by lying, being cynical of others.” 

“I do not think I embody arrogance.” Hannibal passed over the second pan, eyes following Will’s body and the way the muscles in his arms moved as he worked. 

“But you constantly have problems with the law,” Will agreed, pushing another symptom out into the open. “Uh, intimidating, hostility, aggression and violence. A lack of empathy and remorse about harming others.” 

“I do not have a lack of empathy,” Hannibal disagreed, handing Will the wooden spoon before turning off the sink and drying it hands on a towel before folding the towel back up and setting it back on the countertop. 

“Ok, you have the ability to pick and choose your empathy,” Will agreed, taking all of the dishes to be put away. 

“And I do not take risks unnecessarily. I take into account all of my choices and their outcomes and I was not irresponsible with my work and obligations.” Hannibal gave a shrug, obviously objecting the diagnosis that Will was giving him. “I do not have ASPD.” 

“You’re forgetting the most damning part,” Will continued on, putting the frying pans into a cabinet that he found easily as if he had used it a million times before despite not even having seen Hannibal pull out the pans. He pushed the repeating feeling of _déja vú_. “And there is no way that you can fight me on this part.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“Using charm to manipulate others for personal gain or pleasure...” Will’s voice went soft towards the end and Hannibal folded his arms over his chest, enjoying the blush that had been fevering Will’s cheeks almost all day. Will cleared his throat and tried to leave the kitchen, but Hannibal quickly snatched his hand and pulled him back, only deepening the red on across his face. 

“Are you saying that I’m charming?” Hannibal asked in a low voice, pulling Will in closely until Will was knocked off balance and landed with hands against Hannibal’s chest, effectively wrinkling his otherwise perfectly pressed dress shirt. 

“What was that about not being arrogant?” Will challenged right back. Hannibal’s half smile and arms that now had a firm grasp on his waist made Will’s pulse race. Hannibal was quiet, waiting for Will to fill the silence between them. “Do you have to pretend like you’re not charming? Or witty?” Will asked, hands now fists in Hannibal’s dress shirt. “Do you have to pretend like you’re not perfect?” 

Hannibal’s half smile dropped at the words. “You put me on a pedestal that I do not deserve,” he muttered, leaning down to capture Will’s lips in a tender kiss. “I can promise you that I am the furthest thing from perfect.” 

“Stop that,” Will whispered, eyes looking glassy. 

“Stop what?” 

“Being so human.” 

Hannibal’s lips pursed and he gave a pronounced sigh. “As much as I would love to be anything else, I am only what I am. That doesn’t disappoint you, does it?” 

Will shook his head in answer. “I told you you’re perfect, human, devil or monster.” Will’s hand took Hannibal’s cheek, thumb caressing the sharpness of his cheekbones. “We’ll be damned together.” Will’s fingers dropped, trailing the cupid's bow of Hannibal’s lips, inciting a sharp inhale from the killer. “Does your pulse race like mine does?” 

“Only around you,” Hannibal admitted, hand taking the back of Will’s head and pulling him even closer until their breathing melded together. 

“Show me.” 

“We have twenty minutes until dinner needs attention,” Hannibal muttered, eyes closing as Will’s calloused fingers continued to trail over his lips. His tongue slipped out, tasting the salt from Will’s skin, prompting a moan from Will. 

“Are you bragging again, Dr. Lecter?” Will teased, breath heavy, eyes wide like a doe’s, making Hannibal hungry. 

“ _Aš ketinu praryti jus visus, jei nesate atsargus, Will,”_ Hannibal warned darkly, leaving Will only guessing what he was saying, not that he cared. Any language Hannibal wanted to speak would make Will melt and his knees go weak. “ _Negundyk manęs_ _._ ”

“Kiss me,” Will ordered, voice desperate in its whine. 

Hannibal’s fingers tightened in Will’s hair and tugged the man’s head back, kissing him fervently. Will kissed him back, hands making quick work of Hannibal’s shirt, pulling it free from his slacks and unbuttoning it with hurried fingers. Hannibal released his grip on Will long enough to let Will rip his dress shirt from his shoulders and toss it gracelessly to the kitchen floor. 

Hannibal’s undershirt was next, over his head in a flash before he was being kissed again, Will’s lips tracing every inch of skin over Hannibal’s shoulder as if he were starved. At a sharp bite at his collar, Hannibal growled, taking Will’s hips and flipping him around to shove him against the pantry. 

With a strength that Will had seen, but hardly ever experienced against himself, Hannibal lifted him from the ground, Will’s legs wrapping around Hannibal’s middle naturally. His hands were pinned over his head and against the pantry door under a single one of Hannibal’s and he gasped for breath as Hannibal kissed him once more. 

“ _Tu skanus_ ,” Hannibal moaned against Will’s lips, his free hand slipping under the back of Will’s shirt to feel as much of the man as he could all while supporting him. “ _Aš ketinu jus nuvesti į mano pragarą_.” His lips went to Will’s neck, taking in the fluttering of his pulse that was begging for attention. “ _Aš noriu tave jausti mano kauluose_.” 

Will whimpered as the words were followed by a tongue tasting at him, feeling his blood rush in his veins. The words swirled through Will’s head on repeat, making him ache. Hannibal had to know exactly what all of this was doing to him, how much owning him turned him on. There was no way that Hannibal didn’t know Will's deepest secrets and fantasies. They had already lived two out together already. Killing and running away together. 

Hannibal broke contact enough to pull Will’s shirt over his head and Will swiftly let his fingers discover every inch of skin that he could on Hannibal now that his hands were free. Hannibal’s hands snatched up Will’s and brought Wil’s fingertips to his own neck. 

Breathing hard, Will did his best to take in what Hannibal was having him touch, a pounding under his fingers, something much faster than when Hannibal was killing. A heart rate that Will had heard rumored to never exceeded 85 beats per minute even while he was in his imprisonment. Not even when he received human pieces in the mail. Something much faster than his heart when they had finished off Francis Dolarhyde and Will had his head pressed to Hannibal’s chest. 

“ _Ar jūs tai jaučiate?_ ” Hannibal asked, breath as heavy as Will’s. “ _Mano širdis plaka dėl tavęs.”_ Will shook his head, wishing he understood what he was being told. Hannibal nuzzled against Will’s neck, kissing just under Will’s jaw, making will shiver. “It beats for you,” Hannibal whispered, breath hot against Will’s skin. “Only you.” 

“Hannibal,” Will whined, kissing Hannibal again, craving the taste of the killer. Will’s fingers tightened around Hannibal’s neck as he continued to nip at his lips, the pulse under his flesh so satisfying. 

An alarm went off and Will broke the kiss with an angry whimper. Hannibal placed one more quick kiss to Will’s swollen lips and lowered Will back to the floor. 

“That’s not fair,” Will whispered, not letting Hannibal leave his grip. “You said twenty minutes.” 

“I may have misjudged,” Hannibal answered, trying to catch his breath. “Forgive me.” 

Another kiss. This one was not hungry in the slightest. It was an apology, warm and dizzying. The alarm gave another chirp and Hannibal released Will, snatching his shirt from the floor and pulling it back over his head. He picked up his phone and turned off the alarm, going to the oven and opening it, letting the smell of veal fill the kitchen, not nearly sating the hunger that Will was left with. “Will, will you grab me the Port from the bar? We still need to make the Cumberland sauce while this rests.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Divina Commedia di Dante Alighieri.-The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.
> 
> Inferno: Canto I. Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura che' la diritta via era smarrita- Inferno: Canto I. In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself in a dark forest that 'the straight path was lost.
> 
> Ahi quanto a dir qual era e` cosa dura esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte che nel pensier rinova la paura- Ah, it is hard to speak of what it was, that savage forest, dense and difficult, which even in recall renews my fear.
> 
> Aš ketinu praryti jus visus, jei nesate atsargus, Will. Negundyk manęs.- I’m going to swallow you all if you’re not careful, Will. Don't seduce me
> 
> Tu skanus. Aš ketinu jus nuvesti į mano pragarą. Aš noriu tave jausti mano kauluose.- You are delicious. I am going to lead you to my hell. I want to feel you in my bones.
> 
> Ar jūs tai jaučiate? Mano širdis plaka dėl tavęs.-Do you feel it? My heart beats for you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fire can symbolize many things in a dream, Will.” He gathered up his plate and got to his feet, Will feeling as if he was trying to distance himself from the conversation. “Mostly it symbolizes change. Your subconscious may have just been trying to work through the emotions of us leaving today.” 
> 
> “But it was so real,” Will muttered, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I could feel the heat of the flames, hear the crackling of the wood, smell the smoke.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while since I wrote this chapter and I tagged two songs to it. I do this when a song was inspirational or if it fit the overall mood of the chapter I was writing. Not sure what mood I was in or if my past self just has a sense of humor, but here they are. One was obviously used for the supposed dream, but the other was something. I have no idea. Haha. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b3UdPbqc-k
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzB3JB-0zk4

* * *

Hannibal straightened his tie and looked over himself in the mirror. His body was stiff from yesterday, his limp worse in his leg from having stood on it instead of icing it. His shoulders were stiff and there was a pulsing migraine where his head was split. He should have rested instead of working and maybe he wouldn’t be in so much pain from getting hit by that car.

His eyes went to his bedroom door at movement past it. That would be Will. Hannibal licked at his lips, ready for whatever the morning held for him. He just had to keep working with Will. Will would make it through this. Hannibal had promised. 

With a deep breath and his suit coat in place, Hannibal went for the door, opening it and glancing out to find Will in the kitchen, glasses on, but still in his boxers and t shirt, hair messy from sleep. 

He was busing himself by pulling some eggs from the fridge and then finding pans in the cabinet beside the stove. Hannibal watched curiously, not wanting to interrupt Will’s work. They hadn’t finished packing the kitchen figuring it was better to eat at home than risk being out in public for longer than necessary. The rest of everything else was packing in nearly stacked boxes by the front door for the movers to take. 

Will had begun cracking eggs into the pan before he finally noticed Hannibal lurking in the doorway of his room. Will smiled brightly and it caught Hannibal off guard. Did he remember? He had to. He was moving around the kitchen like he had been in it a million times. 

“Morning,” Will said sweetly. “Do you want to come tell me what I’m doing wrong?” 

“Did you sleep well?” Hannibal asked, stepping into the kitchen and looking over what Will was doing. The eggs were sizzling in the butter and Hannibal smiled. “I think you’re doing fine.” 

“I didn’t really sleep much. I had a nightmare.” Will used a spatula to flip the egg and grumbled as the yolk cracked. Hannibal chuckled. “What did I do wrong?” 

“You just have to be more gentle,” Hannibal answered, placing a kiss to the back of Will’s head without a thought. What was wrong with him? He knew Will’s mind was struggling. If he couldn’t recall fully decorated Christmas trees, then it was fairly possible that he wouldn’t remember their frantic tumble that was rudely interrupted.

Will glanced back at him and placed a quick peck to Hannibal’s lips before turning back to the pan. “What is the plan this morning?” he asked, flipping the next egg over, arm in an amusingly odd angle that had Hannibal lightly smiling. 

“After we eat, we can finish packing and leave,” Hannibal explained, getting plates out of the cupboard. “The movers will have all of our things delivered by tonight. I thought you would like to get to know the grounds before we had to worry about unpacking.” 

“Ok,” Will said with a nod, taking the plates from Hannibal who he noticed was visibly limping. “Should you be on your feet?” His voice was concerned and sent a small smile to Hannibal’s lips. “And is your head doing alright?” Will lifted the pan from the stove top and scooped the eggs out onto the two plates before placing the pan on a cool burner and turning off the flame. 

“What was your nightmare about?” Hannibal deflected, taking the plate with the broken eggs on it so that Will might have the better ones. He could see Will open his mouth to argue, but he fell silent at a dismissive wave from Hannibal. 

Will followed Hannibal to the dining table and sat, looking around the very empty apartment, feeling a hollowness in his chest. He pushed the feeling away and dug into his eggs, unsure if he wanted Hannibal’s verdict. Will’s cooking was stuck in college dorms and scraping pennies. Cans and boxes. Anything cheap and filling that could be mixed together in any form of something to eat, whether tasty or not. 

“Don’t lie to me Will,” Hannibal muttered, placing another forkful into his mouth. “You cook just fine.” 

“I remember this one time in college,” Will muttered, unsure what made him want to open up in the space between them over mediocre eggs that weren’t even seasoned well. “My roommate and I were out of money and all we had were eggs and a pack of instant mash potatoes from a dollar store.” Will smiled at the twinge of mortification over Hannibal’s face. “I worked part time, minimum wage. I couldn’t afford anything else,” Will defended, unsure why he needed to make himself out to be something better than what he was. “I had to pay for college myself. I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship like you.” At a pointed gaze, Will gave a shrug. “Alright, I didn’t apply myself to get a scholarship. I couldn’t do the interviews.” 

But Will was used to not having money. He had always been on the poorer side. He was used to it. It wasn’t until Hannibal that Will had begun to indulge a bit more, spending money that he had saved up as a panic backup even though he didn’t need it. 

“So we fried the eggs, and put them over the mashed potatoes and that was dinner.” Will chuckled at Hannibal’s frown. “The next day we found three dollars’ worth of change in the car we shared and we got sandwiches from the dollar menu at McDonalds.” 

“That might be more insulting than instant mashed potatoes,” Hannibal grumbled, setting his plate aside, now finished.

Will laughed again lightly and Hannibal could feel a tightness in his chest as he watched Will carefully, cataloging every movement the man made. Will didn’t laugh enough. Will’s fingers rubbed over his lips the same way they had when they had breakfast for the first time together and Hannibal smiled faintly at the memory. 

A time before they had broken each other and clung to one another as if it was the only way to hold onto life. A time when they were killer and catcher. A time before they were friends. A time before Will’s mind was shattered into pieces that Hannibal was desperately trying to collect and put back together. 

Hannibal hoped that today would be another good day. Will had him worried yesterday, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Will didn’t need to know what Hannibal went through almost daily. Especially if he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. But today was nice. Today would be an easier day for Hannibal to maneuver and maybe it meant that Will’s mind was finally on the mend after his injuries. The mind was always the most difficult to repair. 

“Are you going to tell me about your dream?” Hannibal asked into the quiet apartment, calling Will’s shining blue eyes from his nearly finished plate and to the man beside him. 

Will swallowed and lowered his hands to his lap, wringing out his fingers before they went back to his lips as if to try to hide any ques that Hannibal would have been able to read from them. 

“There was a house. I had never been there before,” Will started, voice muffled behind his hand. “But I knew it was ours. I don’t know how I knew.” He looked over Hannibal’s face, waiting for an expression, but when none came, Will continued. “There was a fire. Everything was on fire.” Will gave a curious look as Hannibal’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of it. “You were stuck inside, unconscious. I couldn’t get you out, so I lied beside you and the two of us went up in smoke.” 

There was a twitch at the corner of one of Hannibal’s eyes and Will wanted to ask what the man was hiding from him, but Hannibal quickly placed his mask back on and spoke. “Fire can symbolize many things in a dream, Will.” He gathered up his plate and got to his feet, Will feeling as if he was trying to distance himself from the conversation. “Mostly it symbolizes change. Your subconscious may have just been trying to work through the emotions of us leaving today.” 

“But it was so real,” Will muttered, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I could feel the heat of the flames, hear the crackling of the wood, smell the smoke.” 

“Our minds are very good at recording our senses and relaying them back to us,” Hannibal explained, giving Will a fake smile. A crease formed between Will’s brows and Hannibal did his best to ignore the dislike in the answer given. “Thank you for breakfast, Will. We need to finish packing.” 

The dismissal stung deep in Will’s bones and he had the unnerving feeling in the back of his throat that Hannibal was keeping something from him. A secret. Something that would never see the light of day and it made Will question the vividness of his nightmare. It was another item that Will quickly put into a forgotten memory that he had to try to find. His dreams had always been vivid, but they had never been like this. There weren’t any monsters, no ravenstags, no dead girls, just the two of them in acceptance that it was their time. But when had they been in a fire? 

Will was pulled abruptly from his mind at a shattering sound and the clatter of silverware against the floor. “Hannibal,” he called, racing from his chair and around the side of the table to find Hannibal on his knees, trying to pick up the shards of the plate that had broken. 

“I’m ok,” he assured Will as Will dropped to his own knees at Hannibal’s side. 

“It’s your leg, isn’t it?” Will questioned, helping pick up the larger pieces of the plate. “I told you not to be on it.” 

“Apologies, Dr. Graham.” 

Will frowned at the words and he paused in his cleaning for simply a moment before continuing. “Don’t do that to me. Don’t close off,” Will mumbled. “Let me help you. You’re not fucking immortal.” 

Hannibal’s movements stilled and Will’s eyes flickered over him. “I don’t think I have ever heard you use such unsavory language in my presence before,” Hannibal muttered. 

“That’s the only thing you got out of that whole sentence?” Will grumbled, reaching out and taking the shards of glass from Hannibal’s hand. He got to his feet and threw them away before coming back and holding a hand out to Hannibal Hannibal took it and Will pulled the man to his feet, having Hannibal wrap an arm around Will’s shoulder for support as Will led him back to the table. Hannibal sat down in a chair and Will dropped to his knees between Hannibal’s legs. 

Hannibal shook his head and tried to push the lewd idea of the position Will was in from his mind. Will sighed and looked over Hannibal’s leg for a moment. “You were hit higher up, weren’t you?” Hannibal gave a nod and Will got back to his feet. “Alright, either you take off your pants or you let me cut them up.” Hannibal frowned in dislike and Will nodded. “That’s what I thought.” 

Will helped Hannibal stand back up, keeping his balance as Hannibal removed his slacks, folding them neatly and placing them on the tabletop. Hannibal sat back down and Will looked over Hannibal’s bare and muscular legs. One leg had livid purple bruising from his thigh that spider webbed down over his knee and onto his shin. It was angry in its spread and his knee was swollen. 

“For a doctor, you’re pretty lazy when it comes to yourself,” Will grumbled, kneeling back down beside Hannibal and looking over the bruising, his hands reaching out, but not making contact, afraid to hurt the man. At a small nod, Will’s fingers began to softly press at the bruising in his knee. “You didn’t break it.”

“No,” Hannibal agreed. “If I had to guess, based on most common injuries from car accidents, I have either torn my meniscus or my ACL.” Hannibal inhaled with a hiss through his teeth as Will pressed a little harder on his knee. 

“Is that serious?” Will questioned, getting back to his feet, hand staying on Hannibal’s knee, thumb gently rubbing calming circles against Hannibal’s skin. 

“It can be if not treated correctly,” Hannibal mused, hand running through his silvering hair. 

“Is it safe to assume you are not treating it correctly?” 

“I iced it last night. I should start some physical therapy to avoid a surgical procedure.”

Will ran a hand through his curls, making them somehow messier than they were before, and Hannibal looked over the boy fondly. The clever, cunning boy who cared and empathized far too much. The boy who was clawing at the darkness that he would only continue to fall into if he decided to stay with the monster that was Hannibal. 

“Ok.” Will’s hands rested on his hips and he looked around the apartment. “We’ll get you some ice. I want you to rest. I will finish packing.” Will raised a hand as Hannibal tried to argue. “Do not fight me on this. We cannot afford you being injured. Not when you’re my life raft and I need you.” 

“I’m sure you could fare without me,” Hannibal muttered, watching as Will went into the kitchen and dug through the freezer for an ice pack. He grabbed a hand towel and wrapped up the ice pack, passing it over to Hannibal who placed the cold to his knee. “You know how to live off the land far better than I ever could. Money gets me where I need to go.” 

“Yeah, I’d be feral, sleeping in the dirt, covered in blood and living with a pack of dogs,” Will muttered, finding a broom to clean up the rest of the glass. 

“Why do you do that?” Hannibal asked, fingers tapping on the tabletop as he watched Will clean and wash dishes. 

“Do what?” 

“You dismiss any compliments,” Hannibal pointed out, sitting up a little more in his chair. Will didn’t stop working, no micro pause that Hannibal was used to when he pointed out flaws in Will’s character. Will made no move to answer, simply dried the pan and then tossed the hand towel over his shoulder to start working on the plate that was still in one piece. “Is it because you’re afraid to invoke jealousy or envy?” 

Will snorted at that, his normal uncomfortable smile turning up his lips, making his scar glint darkly. “No one has a reason to be jealous of or envy me.” Will dried off the plate and set it aside on the counter, no point in putting it away when all of them were going to be going into boxes. 

“Society teaches women to shun compliments, not men. It’s an ego stroke that men are meant to take with pride.” 

Will rolled his eyes. “This is reminding me horribly of nights in your office.” He shot Hannibal a pointed look and Hannibal simply shrugged a single shoulder. “Are you playing therapist again, Dr. Lecter?” 

“I simply want to understand,” Hannibal replied, eyes locked on Will. Will shifted uncomfortably under the hot gaze on him as he went to get a box to begin packing. He folded it into shape and tossed it on the kitchen floor, digging items out of various cupboards. “Humor me. Is it an insecurity?” 

“No,” Will grumbled, his temper coming through defensively as Hannibal picked at his brain. Hannibal knew how far to push Will to get the answers he wanted. Hannibal was the only one that Will gave himself over to even if it upset him. A give and take between the two of them. That was the best way that Hannibal had found to deal with Will. _Quid pro quo._

“A feeling of worthlessness, then.” It wasn’t a question, a statement that made Will’s jaw clench, which usually meant that Hannibal had guessed correctly. “You’re not worthless, Will.” 

Will exhaled deeply and stopped in his work, turning to face Hannibal full on. “It’s not worthlessness. It’s...” Will groaned, hands going to his head as he tried to form the words that were so often clear in his mind, but he knew would make no sense when they came out. “I feel...” 

“Yes?” Hannibal prompted gently, watching Will’s body language carefully to help him know what words to pick to make sure Will didn’t shut himself down and retreat into himself. 

“I can’t-I can’t believe them,” Will stuttered out, hands now taking fistfulls of his curls. He watched Hannibal’s face for any tells of what Hannibal was thinking, but it was as blank as Hannibal wanted it to be, though his eyes held a curiosity in them. 

“Why not, Will?” 

“I don’t know if they’re telling the truth.” 

Hannibal tipped his head to the side, his free hand rubbing at the stubble along his jaw thoughtfully. “Your whole career has been based on finding the truth. What makes you unable to see your own truths?” 

“I don’t know,” Will said with distaste in his tone as he carelessly tossed things into the box now, trying to find something for his hands to do to stop his nervous energy from taking over him as it liked to do when he was confronted with digging into his own mind that was beginning to ache just behind his eye. 

“You do know,” Hannibal urged, adjusting the ice pack on his knee, eyes still firmly on Will’s anxious energy manifesting in trembling hands. “Tell me.” The words were gentle and soft, hoping to not upset Will further. 

“Be-because,” he got out, hand over his mouth. 

“Because?” 

“Because I don’t know what I am!” Will shouted, breathing hard as his pacing came to a stop, eyes on Hannibal, hidden behind dark curls. “I have no idea what I am. Am I an absent husband and father? Am I autistic or insane? Am I brilliant or fucked up? Am I a killer? Am I a monster? I don’t have an answer to any of those, so how could someone else possibly know anything about me?” 

It was always so intriguing to learn all of Will's inner thoughts. They were as complicated as the next and made his mind bigger and more expansive than it would look to the average person. Will was a labyrinthine of unpredictability that made Hannibal want to dig through every inch of the man, to find all of his secrets and all of his fears and what made him Will Graham. 

“You don’t give people enough credit,” Hannibal offered gently, not wanting to step across a line they wouldn’t be able to come back from. 

“What would you know about giving people credit? You eat them if they disagree with you,” Will shot back before he could stop himself. His hands fell to his sides and he shrunk back, obviously pulling away from the conversation. Hannibal didn’t say a word and finally the silence was too loud for Will to handle. “I’m sorry.” 

“Apology accepted, Will,” Hannibal declared without a hint of any sort of resentment. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? I will finish up here.” 

Will took a step forward as Hannibal got to his feet, tossing the ice pack to the table and reaching for his slacks, knee feeling a tad numb from the cold. Hannibal’s eyes went to Will who had an outstretched hand towards Hannibal with a worried glint in his eyes, but the words didn’t leave his mouth, though Hannibal knew what they would be. 

“I am injured, not handicapped,” Hannibal reminded, straightening up now that he was once again presentable. “I can take care of things here. Go relax in the shower, clear your mind.” 

Will moved stiffly towards the exit of the kitchen and stopped when he was beside Hannibal, rubbing at his elbow as he tried to form words with a mouth that wouldn’t produce sound, only open and close awkwardly as he tried so desperately to say what was on his mind. 

“You do not have to say anything Will,” Hannibal assured, hand taking his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

“The light and the dark, they all blur together. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore and now I'm stuck,” Will licked at his lips and tipped his head side to side, face scrunched up as the jumbled mess of his mind tried to untangle itself. “Or maybe I've just given up,” he finally decided. His head turned to look at Hannibal who was silent, letting Will unsnarl himself. “And I don’t think I mind.” 

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, taking in Will’s words, tasting them carefully before speaking. “You don’t have to think anymore, Will.” He leaned over and placed a careful kiss to Will’s temple. “Let your mind be quiet, _mylimasis_.” 

Will blinked at the word, a horrible feeling of knowing what it meant and not being able to place it clinging to his limbs. He blinked several times, scraping through his mind for any sense of what the word could mean, but eventually came up empty. He glanced at Hannibal whose face was much closer than Will thought it would have been, though he didn’t mind. 

“What does that mean?” Will asked softly, heart picking up its pace at the closeness, a much more pleasant racing than the anger that had been coursing through him earlier. 

“It covers a wide range of-”

“-endearments,” Will interrupted with a nod, echoes of a conversation looping through him. “But you intend it to mean precious.” 

“Quite so,” Hannibal agreed faintly. With a deep breath, Hannibal released Will’s shoulder and less than gracefully made his way to the kitchen to straighten up the mess that Will had made in his fit. “Go get cleaned up Will. You can help me after.” 

“How do I know that Hannibal?” Will turned back to the kitchen, a hand going to his forehead as he tried to pull the information to the forefront of his mind, but once again coming up empty. Nothing in any of his filing cabinets, nothing in his room strictly of Hannibal. Nothing in his room of odds and ends of information that he had found important at a single moment and had stored away for later use, but it had become more of a junk drawer than a filing cabinet. “I’ve never heard the words before.” 

“I’ve called you that before,” Hannibal explained, tone being one of complete honesty. 

“I don’t remember that.” 

“You obviously do.” 

Will’s eyes dropped to the floor and his migraine only seemed to get worse. There was a terrible pounding behind his eye and it was beginning to make it hard for him to see. His hand covered his eyes and he hunched over, trying to block out some of the light from the sun coming through the window. 

“Will, are you ok?” Hannibal’s voice asked in concern. 

Will waved the words away. “Just a headache. I’ll be back after my shower.”

The shower did nothing to sooth away the pain that investigating his own mind created, the memories still alluding him. They had to be there, Will reasoned with himself. Hannibal didn’t lie. Never lied, twisted the truth, reworded things to make them suit him. In this instance he had no reason to lie though. What would a pet name be something to lie about? 

Will’s hand reached out to steady himself on the shower wall as his mind pounded angrily against his skull as if there was an ancient Egyptian trying to scramble his brains into soup for mummification. 

He groaned, sinking to his knees, one hand guiding him down while the other pressed against his eye until swirling patterns filled his vision, phantom whispers finally greeting him in voices he knew all too well. 

_“Please pass me my drink, mylimasis,” Hannibal said, not putting down the book he had been engrossed in all morning. Will obliged, placing the wine glass in Hannibal’s outstretched hand. “Thank you, mylimasis.”_

_“You keep calling me that,” Will pointed out, sitting down opposite Hannibal in an armchair. “What does it mean?”_

_Hannibal took a small sampling of his wine before using his finger to bookmark his page and focusing his attention on Will, regarding him for a moment more before answering. “It covers a wide range of endearments, but in this case and all others it means precious.”_

_Will snorted causing Hannibal to give him a confused expression. “I’m not precious.”_

_“Deliciously so, I’m afraid,” Hannibal contradicted._

Will inhaled deeply, eyes shooting open with a painful moan at the bright light’s assault. He quickly closed his eyes once more, both hands holding either side of his head, pushing as hard as he could as if his head were going to split in half and he was trying to hold it together. 

“Shit,” he hissed out, vision blurry when he opened his eyes once more. He turned off the shower and an immediate cold set in over his body. He pushed himself up and dried himself off before dressing. 

He stumbled from the bathroom and out into the living room, nearly colliding with a stack of boxes that hadn’t been there earlier. He glanced towards the kitchen and found it empty, his heart sinking as his hand returned to his eyes, palm pressing back into it. 

“Will?” Hannibal asked somewhere to Will’s left. He rounded a few more boxes and found the doctor sitting on the couch, legs crossed and the black leather notebook open in his lap, fresh scribbles on one of the pages. “Is everything alright?” 

“My-” Will inhaled sharply through his teeth, “-head.” 

“Come here,” Hannibal instructed, motioning for Will. Will staggered towards the couch as Hannibal closed the notebook up and put it on the coffee table. Will sat down and hands guided him until he was laying back down on Hannibal’s lap. “Symptoms?” he questioned. 

“Pounding, gets worse with movement,” Will whispered, eyes shut tightly. “Lights and sounds.” 

“Give me a moment. I will be right back.” Hannibal carefully lifted Will’s head from his lap and Will was lowered onto the couch, the movement sending a shockwave of pain through his head. His teeth gritted at the sensation. Will could make out the sound of curtains being closed and then darkness as lights were switched off. “Sit up Will. Take these.” 

Will wanted to argue but couldn’t find the strength. He sat up and opened his eyes, the outline of Hannibal before him in the dimmer room, holding out a glass of water and some aspirin. Will took it greedily, swallowing the pills in one go. Hannibal sat back down and Will rested back against Hannibal’s lap, sighing into the feeling of fingers pressing into his temples and gently massaging them. 

Hannibal’s voice was a whisper when he spoke again. “How often do you get migraines like this?” 

“Ever since I was in high school,” Will answered, his own voice rattling around his head, causing him to wince. “Though they haven’t been this bad since...” he trailed off and could see Hannibal nod in the darkness. 

“Since the cases,” Hannibal finished for him. “Will, I’m going to teach you something to help, I need you to pay attention so that you can do this if you’re alone.” Will nodded and immediately regretted the movement. Hannibal’s fingers left Will’s temples and Will whimpered at the loss of slight relief. He could feel Hannibal pick up one of his hands, gently caressing it. “There is a pressure point in your wrist; it’s called the LU-7. You find it by interlocking your thumb of one hand with that of the other, the point lies on the edge of the index finger, in a depression between the sinew and the bone.”

Will could feel Hannibal stretch out his hand and then his index finger caressing the skin at Will’s wrist. With the point now found, Hannibal applied pressure to it with his thumb and Will wanted to roll his eyes at the idea that a pressure point would do anything to help something that not even the strongest medication could take away. 

In a breath of fresh air, relief pooled through Will as if the migraine had been magically whisked away. His eyes opened and he inhaled deeply, freedom from the pain was sweet and Will nearly wanted to cry. 

“Better?” Hannibal asked softly, keeping pressure on the spot, his other hand running through Will’s damp curls. Will gave a nod with a grateful hum and a relieved sigh. “Rest here, _mylimasis_.” 

Will gave another small nod, eyes sliding closed, body tired from how tense he had been holding it. He relaxed into Hannibal’s grip, a drowsiness pulling at his mind. He wasn’t sure if he slept at all, but after a time of floating happily through painlessness, Hannibal gently shook him. 

“Will, the cab is here. It’s time to go.” 

“No,” Will argued tiredly. 

“Come along silly boy,” Hannibal said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m going to release your hand. If the migraine comes back I will be more than happy to continue holding it when we get our things down to the car.” 

Just as swiftly as the pain had gone, the moment that Hannibal’s grip loosened on his wrist, it slammed back into him, making his stomach churn and a nauseated feeling coat his throat. 

Hannibal helped him up, handing him a bag of personal effects before snatching up his notebook and leading the way from their apartment and out into the cold winter air. 

* * *

When Hannibal had said a cabin the first thing that Will had imagined was a hunting cabin not unlike Garret Jacob Hobbs’. Will stared out of the cab window as they rounded a cluster of pine trees that would keep their new home out of sight. 

The snow was thick and piled up around the wooden stairs and deck that had to be a wrap around. The roof was slanted in much the same way as Hannibal’s safe house had been and there was a large pane of glass that went from floor to ceiling. It was no doubt two stories, something more akin to a house than a cabin, but Hannibal had been right. This felt more like a home than the apartment had. 

The cab stopped in the driveway and Will exited the car, breath floating away into the air, fingers trembling in the cold immediately. 

“Is the ice going to be a problem with your knee?” Will questioned, looking over his shoulder as Hannibal made his way around the front of the cab and to Will’s side. 

“What do you think?” Hannibal asked with a grin, changing the subject before it had even fully begun. “I picked it out for you.” 

The abruptness of the confession took Will aback and he found himself at a loss for words. “Me?” he finally got out as the cab took off back up the driveway. 

“ _Oui, mon cher._ ” Hannibal gave a nod with a pleased smile at Will’s reaction. Hannibal began up to the house, a bag over his shoulder, his other hand still holding firmly to the notebook that he had kept expertly out of Will’s reach, but still within agonizing sight. 

“Do you enjoy making it so I don’t understand you?” Will grumbled beginning to trudge through the snow after Hannibal. 

Hannibal laughed brightly, a laugh that Will wasn’t sure he had ever heard before, but immediately decided that he liked and wanted to hear more of. 

“I know you understood that,” he tossed back, making his way up the stairs and onto the deck, searching for the key on top of the door hinge that was covered in snow. “And I am sure you know Creole from your time in the south.” 

Will came to stand beside Hannibal and stomped his shoes off before entering the now open door. “I don’t know much Creole and you are more than well aware that Creole and French are extremely different, _mô shè_.” 

For once Will felt like he finally had a step up on Hannibal, knowing something that the man didn’t in all of his profound wisdom. There was a smugness that Will couldn’t suppress at the idea that Hannibal wouldn’t understand Creole, but the smugness quickly faded as he finally took in the room around him. 

Wood greeted him from all angles, smelling strongly of a mixture of pine and cedar. The ceilings were tall and there was a catwalk for the second story that reminded Will of the library in Hannibal’s office. Chandeliers lit up the room and Will found that the light helped drown out some of the cold of the heater not having been turned on yet. 

A large stone fireplace reached from floor to ceiling, surrounded by two large couches and several armchairs. Tucked away in the corner was a piano that caught the chandelier’s light against its polished black face. 

In the open plan, Will could also see the kitchen, something large and professional, something that he was certain Hannibal had picked specifically for himself. There was a long island and bar as well as stainless steel everything, looking freshly cleaned and ready to be used. 

In the dining room was a good 12-foot table with a forest green table runner down the middle of it. Beside the table was a wine cabinet, completely filled with bottles waiting to be cracked open. 

“Does it please you?” 

Will blinked as he tried to understand the words that were said, his mind still so wrapped up in the grandeur of the supposed to be humble cabin. Will gave a small nod, stepping further into their new home, trying to take in the fact that all of this was for him. 

“The bedrooms are upstairs. There should be some wood already chopped on the deck so we can start a fire, if you would like,” Hannibal continued on. “And the river is just past those trees.” 

Hannibal set his bag and notebook on the dining table and went to turn on the heater. The fan whirred as it started up and Hannibal stepped back over to Will who still stood in stunned silence. 

“How is your migraine?” he asked, trying to get Will’s attention back on him. Will blinked, eyes coming to Hannibal’s face, but blankly. Hannibal watched as his words finally registered in the empath’s eyes. 

“Better,” he replied, eyes quickly going back to the house. “Thank you.” 

Hannibal looked around the room for a moment before putting his attention back on the man in front of him. “Is there a problem?” 

Will shook his head. “No.” He laughed softly, a slight smile coming to his lips. “I just... Have never had something like this before. Nothing this lavish and especially not meant for me.” 

“That doesn’t seem quite right, does it?” Hannibal mused with a small hum. Will gave him a confused look. “Anything can be yours,” Hannibal offered, turning away from Will and heading for the door to fetch some wood to start a fire. “You just have to ask.” 

“Anything?” Will questioned, guilt knotting in his stomach painfully. “Within reason, right?” 

Hannibal shook his head. “Anything,” he clarified. 

Will swallowed and quickly went to go help Hannibal get some firewood, but stopped as his eyes found Hannibal’s discarded things on the dining table. Will hesitated, eyes on the door that had been closed to keep the cold out. He debated it for a moment longer before stepping over to the table and reaching out for the black notebook, fingers trailing over the chilled leather. 

He picked it up and his fingers trailed the edge of the pages, nearly flipping open the cover, longing to see what Hannibal’s mind had been letting sink into the pages with a hand that was more closely related to calligraphy than chicken scratch. 

With a deep breath, Will set the book back down on the table, unopened, and went for the door. He pulled it open to find Hannibal with a decent sized stack in his arms and Will went to take it from him. 

“You shouldn’t be on that knee,” Will reminded, adjusting his balance to take on the new weight, his shoulder straining painfully, but he did his best to hide the discomfort on his face. 

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Will,” Hannibal assured, going back to the woodpile and stacking some more pieces in the crook of his arm. 

“I know you are,” Will assured as he made his way back into their house and towards the fireplace after once more stomping the snow from his boots. He dumped the wood into a small log rack and turned to help Hannibal once again with his. With the wood now in the log rack, Will turned back around, taking Hannibal’s arm as Hannibal turned to leave. He turned back and Will stepped closer to him, looking down at his grip on Hannibal’s sleeve. “Please let me take care of you.” 

There was a sharp inhale and Will’s head snapped up, afraid that he might have said something wrong. Hannibal’s maroon eyes flickered over Will’s face in shock at the words, not sure what he was supposed to do with them. He had never heard them said to him before. It was always him saying it to someone else, not really caring if he really did help or not. 

“You mean that?” Hannibal found himself asking, unsure why he cared so much for it to be true. There was just something about the idea of being able to relax into a person and trust them that was so foreign to him, but he found himself wanting to let Will be that person. 

“Of course, Hannibal.” Will pushed closer, rising onto his toes enough to place a kiss to Hannibal’s mouth, loving and quiet, not needing to be anything more or anything less than what it was. “Let someone help you for a change. Let me take care of you.” Hannibal rested his head against Will’s with a small nod, a feeling of release in his chest at letting himself be that open for the first time in his life, as if he could fully breathe for the first time in years. 

* * *

Will stepped along the edge of the river that was frozen over, though he could still hear it running beneath the ice, something calming in the quiet mountain air. Pine trees were frosted white and Will’s breath danced among the branches as he made his way through the snow, hands pushed into his pockets. 

The clouds had covered up the sun and were a swirling light grey, promising more snow to fall sooner rather than later. There was a crispness on the wind that blew against Will’s face, making his cheeks go red with the cold. 

He had nearly forgotten that Hannibal was beside him. Hannibal was quiet, like the predator he was, hands in his pockets as he followed in Will’s footsteps through the snow. Will gave a small smile, checking Hannibal’s limp to see if it had worsened and finding that he was still standing strong, Will pushed on, a hand reaching out to move a branch out of his way. 

He glanced around him once more and a small smile covered his lips, the feeling of being home sinking into his bones, though he was missing watching the dogs bounding through the snow, making a mess of the pristine powder. He wasn’t sure how long they could stay here, but the house was big enough. Maybe Hannibal would let him get one or two. He hadn’t pictured Hannibal as one to enjoy animals being around, but Hannibal had promised anything and Will was a good trainer. The dogs would be well behaved. 

He was about to breach the subject when there was an odd, echoing sound. A slipping and then a crash and splash. Will spun around quickly to find himself alone, Hannibal nowhere in sight, but the evidence of him having been there was present. 

The snow along the bank of the river was displaced from a slip and the river was flowing freely now that it was uncovered from the ice. Will raced towards the edge of the river as quickly as he could through the snow, panic shooting through his body as it had when he was trying to protect Abigail. 

His body was jittery with the chemicals as he dropped to his knees to search the water for the man that had yet to reappear at the surface, panicked that the river current had swept Hannibal under the ice. 

Tension grew in Will’s face and hands as his stomach twisted, sparking something hot and angery within him. His breathing became more rapid, shallower, eyes wandering the flowing water, memories of salt in his mouth making him want to spit. 

“Hannibal,” Will choked out, snatching up the man’s hand as he, after an eternity of waiting, broke the surface. Will pulled as hard as he could on Hannibal to get the gasping and sputtering man to the edge of the river. He grabbed the back of Hannibal’s winter coat and dragged on the fabric until he was able to pull Hannibal from the icy water and into the snow. 

Hannibal trembled, face pale and lips so deep blue they were becoming a purple. His breath still came out in gasps, short and ragged. Will leaned over him, taking Hannibal’s face in his hands, the skin frozen under Will’s fingers. 

“Hannibal, listen to me,” Will instructed, seeing himself as a boy shivering in the snow, clothes dripping freezing water from them. “You need to steady your breathing. You’re in shock. Come on. Focus.” Will took Hannibal’s arms and pulled him up and onto his feet, only for Hannibal to stumble on shaking knees. Will caught him and promptly turned so his back was at Hannibal’s chest, hoisting the man onto his back, wrapping Hannibal’s shivering arms around his neck. 

Will shuttered as the cold penetrated his own clothes, making him wet as well. He began the trek back to the cabin that was in the distance, instructing Hannibal how to breathe and to stay calm, over and over like a mantra. 

As soon as Will got the door to the cabin open, he moved Hannibal in front of the fireplace that was still smoldering slightly. He placed Hannibal on the floor and dropped to his knees beside him. 

“Hannibal, can you undress yourself?” Will asked, receiving just blank eyes looking back at him. How long had they been outside? Will knew the statistics. He had read everything he could on the subject after his fall, learned everything he could because he had a morbid fascination about it. He had ten minutes before hypothermia would set in and then it would be more difficult to take care of Hannibal. 

He jumped into action quickly, hands immediately going to work at stripping away Hannibal’s soaking wet clothing. Coat, suit coat, tie, vest, dress shirt. By the third layer, Will rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of Hannibal’s wardrobe. 

Once Hannibal was completely stripped, Will snatched a blanket from the couch that was probably more meant for aesthetic purposes than for use, and wrapped it around Hannibal’s shivering shoulders. 

“Hannibal, I need you to stay with me, alright?” Will asked, hand pushing dripping hair from Hannibal’s face. Hannibal gave a small nod, finally mentally there. Will jumped into action at that, quickly adding more wood to the fire to get it going again. Flames started to rise and Will moved back over to Hannibal, taking his hand. “Get closer to the fire. You need to get warm.” He pulled Hannibal closer to the now roaring flames and again tucked the blanket in closer around Hannibal. 

Will got to his feet, pulling his own wet jacket off and tossing it into the pile of discarded clothes before rushing to the kitchen and digging through the cabinets until he found a ketal. He filled it with water and put it on the stove before running back to the living room, looking around for something else to help Hannibal keep in his body heat, knowing that none of their clothing had been brought over from their apartment yet. 

Will sprinted up the stairs and found one of the bedrooms, ripping the duvet off of a bed and running back down the stairs to the screech of the ketal. He draped the thicker blanket around Hannibal and then went to the kitchen, pulling the ketal from the stove and searching once more through the cabinets until he found mugs and a large variety of teas. He snatched both down and ripped open the box, the tea bags scattering the counter, though he didn’t care. 

With cups full of hot tea, Will made his way back to the living room, setting the cups down on the hearth before adding more wood to the fire. He knelt down beside a still shivering Hannibal and carefully cupped the man’s cheek in his hand, calling tired eyes to his face. 

Hannibal’s lips were still an unsettling color of blue and his skin still sickly pale that gave him the odd appearance of being his actual age. Will had never thought of the man as old, though he was older. He had only seen the charm and the never ending politeness that was sometimes sharp, but Hannibal was, in all respects, human.

“Well, I know you probably hate it, but shivering is a good sign. Your body is still trying to get you warm,” Will explained, getting back to his feet and beginning to pull off his own coats and shirts, stripping down himself, grateful for the wet clothing to be gone. He lowered himself back to the floor, the fire hot against his skin, but he didn’t care. “How are you feeling?” 

“C-Cold,” Hannibal mumbled through chattering teeth. 

Will gave a small half smile and carefully pulled open the cocoon of blankets around Hannibal before carefully inserting himself as well, hugging Hannibal tightly against his body, chest to chest. Will shuttered at the frigid skin that touched his own, but he pulled Hannibal closer. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Will whispered, resting his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal gave an absent nod and Will reached out of the blanket for one of the mugs on the hearth. Will pulled back enough to take Hannibal’s hands and place them around the mug. “You need to drink this, alright? It will help, even if you don’t want to.” Hannibal shook his head and Will frowned at his stubbornness. His hand took Hannibal’s face and guided him to meet a blue gaze. “You said you would let me take care of you, let me take care of you,” Will insisted softly, thumb caressing Hannibal’s sharp cheekbones. 

He led Hannibal’s mug up to Hannibal’s lips and watched carefully to make sure that he was drinking the tea. Will took the cup and set it aside, momentarily satisfied with Hannibal’s action. He hugged Hannibal back against him, cradling the killer’s head against his shoulder. 

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and Hannibal’s more steady breathing next to Will’s ear. Will placed a kiss to Hannibal’s head, hair now nearly dry, letting Hannibal rest for a moment before making him drink more of the tea. 

Color was slowly returning to Hannibal’s skin, though he still kept himself small in some instinctive way to keep in his body heat. His shivering had subsided slightly, but Will made sure to keep them close, sharing body heat until he had to go and stoke the fire. 

Once the flames were back and blaring heat obnoxiously, Will snuggled himself back into the blankets and let Hannibal rest against him, still seeking out any warmth he could find, fingers bitingly cold as they wrapped around Will’s bareback. 

“You scared me,” Will whispered softly, relaxing into the hold and placing another kiss to Hannibal’s head. “I thought maybe you had gotten stuck under the ice. I’m...” Will paused, trying to find the right word to describe how he felt, though none of the ones he said aloud ever really conveyed what he was thinking. Ecstatic, thrilled, elated possibly. “Glad you’re alright.” 

“My knee twisted weird and I fell in,” Hannibal whispered, breath warm against Will’s neck. 

“You are resting the rest of the night,” Will said firmly. “That’s nonnegotiable.” Hannibal simply nodded in surrender. “You are in absolutely no position to be doing anything else. I’ll be surprised if you don’t end up with a cold and a fever as well.” 

“How did you know what to do?” 

Will nuzzled his face into Hannibal’s hair, inhaling deeply of a chill and something that was simply Hannibal that he couldn't exactly place. Wine, books, some sort of spice and something else. 

“When I was younger, my father was going to teach me how to ice fish and I decided to race out onto the lake and fell through,” Will explained, recalling the way his breath was punched from his lungs the moment he hit the water. “My father pulled me out. I was a lot worse off than you though. I had to stay in the hospital overnight. I had severe hypothermia. I think you’re just chilled. It wasn’t quite as cold today as it was when I fell in.” 

"I'll live?" Hannibal teased, shivering once more in Will's hold. Will chucked deeply and Hannibal closed his eyes, enjoying the way he could feel the vibrations in Will's chest. 

"I think you'll live," Will agreed, enjoying the closeness of their bodies, this feeling somehow more intimate than their make out sessions that were always stopped before Will wanted them to be. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'll be alright." 

"And your knee?" 

"I don't think I have to ice it again for a bit." 

Will snorted at the comment and pulled back to look over Hannibal's face. The back of his fingers reached up and caressed Hannibal's cheek. 

"I'm relieved you're alright." Will watched as Hannibal leaned into his touch, letting his fingers trail over Hannibal's face again. "Losing you terrifies me, Hannibal." 

" _Aš tave myliu_ ," Hannibal said softly and Will shook his head with a huff of air through his nose as he smiled. 

"What does that mean?" 

"What language do I have to say it in for you to understand?" 

There was a tiny smile on Hannibal's lips, his cocky self back. Something that Will would never admit that he liked. 

"English preferably," Will answered, tipping his head to the side. 

Hannibal shook his head in dismissal of Will's wants. " _Jag älskar dig_." Will laughed at that, biting his bottom lip between his teeth with another shake of his head. " _Ti amo_." Will shivered at the flash in Hannibal's eyes, though he still didn't fully understand what the man was trying to get at. " _Je t'aime_."

Will gave another laugh. "At least I know that that one was French." 

"You Americans are so poorly educated," Hannibal mumbled with a frown. 

"Then stop being so smart," Will teased, leaning forward to nuzzle Hannibal's nose with his own. "What did you say?" 

Hannibal made a sound of annoyance and placed a lingering kiss to the corner of Will's lips, testing the waters. He had only never said the words out loud before, only admitted to them when Will had asked. 

"I love you." 

The words felt funny leaving his mouth, not hidden behind another language. They were out in the open now for the universe to do what she wanted with them, a pawn pushed forward and waiting for Fate to attack or spare. 

Hannibal couldn't recall having ever said the words to anyone but his sister before. Not even to his aunt. But if anyone deserved to hear the words it was Will. 

The words had been created for the single purpose of Will hearing them. And Hannibal was sure that Will had heard the words as often as Hannibal had said them. 

Will licked his lips, moving away from Hannibal a bit, taking his warmth with him, causing Hannibal to go cold instantly. 

"You don't have to feel obligated to say it back," Hannibal added quickly. "I just want you to know that that is how I feel and it's yours to do with it what you want." 

Will was silent as he took in the words, letting them soak into his skin, trying to decide if they were poison or not. It was, at the very least to say, astonishing that Hannibal was allowing himself to be so open. 

The three words that had come from his lips were undoubtedly unfamiliar to Hannibal and Will couldn't recall ever having believed them from any of his short lived relationships. They were over as soon as they discovered what his mind was like. The only one who hadn't left him was Hannibal and whether he was still there because he really loved Will or because he just wanted to use Will, Will couldn't bring himself to care. The light and dark were blurred. 

"That's very forward, Dr. Lecter," Will teased, a smile returning to his face. "Is this another manipulation technique you like to use?" Hannibal shook his head with a slightly offended look in his eyes. "You mean, you don't want to use me?" 

"That entirely depends." Hannibal said softly. 

"On what?" 

"On if you want to be used." 

Will could feel a heat rise to his cheeks that he knew wasn't from the blankets or fire. "I wouldn't be upset in certain aspects," Will admitted, throat thick. 

"And what are those certain aspects?" Hannibal pressed, chancing to lean in closer once more. 

"One of those moments would be right now, if you weren't still freezing cold." 

"Doesn't movement encourage heat?" Hannibal offered with a shrug. 

"You're impossible," Will laughed, shaking his head so his curls bounced about. He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss from Hannibal, leaving Hannibal in mild shock. Hannibal wanted to get used to Will reaching out first, but he wasn’t quite sure how long this would last. Another good day, another day looming tomorrow when they both woke. “I’m going to work on dinner. You stay close to the fire and finish that tea. It will help keep you warm,” Will instructed. “Let me know if you start getting cold again. I can find more blankets.” 

“Yes, Dr. Graham.” 

Will gave a crooked half smile at the name that wasn’t used in an attempt to hurt this time. With another kiss, Will removed himself from the blankets and wrapped Hannibal up once more, making sure he had a cup of tea in hand before moving to the kitchen to look through the cupboards until he found the pantry.

Most of the items were fresher looking, nothing much in boxes or cans, Will noted with a small nod. Something Hannibal had probably made sure of. Will couldn’t picture Hannibal opening a can of Campbell's soup and putting it in the microwave to eat. The image of a man in a three piece suit using a can opener made Will grin. 

But there were some things. Odd bits and ends that Hannibal must have gotten for Will, because he was very certain that Hannibal would never openly eat spam or canned chili or corned beef hash. But these were all things that Will had in his pantry when he lived in Virginia. Items he was familiar with, one of those being Dinty Moore. 

Will pulled two cans from the pantry, closing the door behind him and went on the hunt for pots and pans and a can opener. After finding one of each, the kitchen bare in utensils for when their boxes arrived, Will opened both cans and dumped them into a pot, putting it on the stove top with a lid over it. 

“Are you drinking your tea?” he called over his shoulder, glancing back at Hannibal who had curled himself into a smaller ball much closer to the fire that was beginning to die down again. Will quickly went for the fireplace and added more wood to it before looking over Hannibal’s pale face. Will found both cups of tea emptied and replaced back on the hearth. “Would you like anymore?” 

Hannibal shook his head and Will picked up the glasses to wash them, but stopped. He knelt down, a hand reaching out to Hannibal’s forehead and pressing carefully into it. Clammy and warm. 

“You’re starting to get a fever,” Will muttered. “It’s normal after rewarming. I’m going to get you some medicine. I think I have some aspirin in my bag.” 

Will fetched the medicine and another warm cup of tea rather than a cold cup of water. He knelt back down next to Hannibal and held out the items. Hannibal slowly took them, not fighting Will much to Will’s surprise. Will placed the cup on the hearth and caressed Hannibal’s hair, fatigued eyes blinking. 

“I need you to stay awake for me, alright?” Will asked, calling Hannibal’s gaze to focus in on him instead of being lost in his own head space. “I know you want to sleep, but I need you to eat something and then I will let you rest.” A single nod was Will’s answer. “Are you doing alright? Do I need to get you another blanket?” A shake of his head. “Alright,” Will whispered, pressing a kiss against Hannibal’s forehead. He got up to go back to the stove, but was stopped at a hand around his ankle. 

“Don’t go,” Hannibal whispered, eyes distant once more. 

“I promise I will be right back,” Will assured, bending down to remove Hannibal’s hand. “Promise.” Hannibal wrapped the blanket back around himself and Will went back to the stove, stirring the bubbling pot and then putting some bread into a toaster. 

With stew ladled out into two bowls and each with a piece of buttered toast, Will made his way back to the fireplace, bowls on the hearth as more wood was added to the fire. Will sat down beside Hannibal and held out the bowl, which Hannibal looked at with a disdain, but took all the same. 

“You’re not putting up much of a fight,” Will commented as he dipped his toast into the stew and took a bite of it. 

“You said you would take care of me,” Hannibal explained in a voice that was feeble and horse. “I trust you to do that. Especially since I am in no position to care for myself.” 

Will’s tongue trailed over his teeth as he took in the words. He took another bite of gravy dipped toast and hummed. “How did those words taste?” 

“Like vinegar.” 

Will watched curiously as Hannibal took a spoonful of carrots and potatoes and placed them in his mouth. Will smiled with a snort at the instant look of dislike across Hannibal’s features, but Hannibal didn’t say a word. He simply took another bite, obviously trying to appease Will. But was it poor and uneducated chef Will, or Dr. Graham’s orders? 

“Eat as much as you can,” Will instructed. “It will help warm you up. You can sleep after.” They sat in silence for a moment longer until Will had finished, bowl placed aside on the hearth, eyes watching the fire dance despite the burn against his skin from how close he was to it. “Please tell me the truth.” 

Hannibal’s hands paused and he lowered the spoonful that was halfway to his mouth back into the bowl, looking over at Will’s shadowed face that caught the light from the fire at just the right angles to make him look nearly holy. 

“What would you like to know?” Hannibal questioned, letting his now free hand grip the bowl, hoping the warmth would soak into his fingers. 

“Is your journal about me?” 

“Yes.” 

Will gave a small nod, chewing on his cheek in thought, unsure how to take the confirmation. “And, uh...” Will rubbed at the back of his neck. “Is it about my mental health?” 

“In a way, yes.” 

“My profile?” 

Hannibal took another bite of the canned garbage that Will had the audacity to like. But he would do whatever Will asked. The give and take, the push and pull. Trust went both ways and Hannibal was doing his best to make sure that he gave just as much as Will did. “I have no need to analyze your personality in any medical sense anymore Will. I am not your physiatrist any longer.” 

“Will you let me read it?” 

“No.” 

Will knew it was a long shot at best. He wasn’t going to be able to get his hands on the notebook unless Hannibal were out or asleep, but now that Hannibal knew Will wanted to read the notebook, he was sure that Hannibal would hide it from him. 

“Can I read it someday?” Will amended, eyes still captivated by the flames. 

“It’s possible,” Hannibal answered softly, placing his half-finished bowl onto the hearth beside Will’s. “When I reach the conclusion I want.” 

“And what conclusion is that, Dr. Lecter?” Will grumbled, his tone coming out much harsher than he meant it to. 

“That you’re stable and safe, _mylimasis_.” 

Will’s frown softened and he sighed. He always let his anger and fear get the better of him, speak for him when he didn’t want them to. “Forgive me.” Hannibal nodded in acceptance and Will pushed himself to his feet. “Would you like to sleep now?” Another simple nod. “Alright. Let me get something set up for you. Do you want to stay next to the fire?” 

“Yes.” 

With that small word, Will left and went for the stairs, climbing them two at a time until he found the bedroom he had torn apart in his haste. He grabbed the pillows that were spilled across the floor and shoved them under his arm before he found the second bedroom and pulled the pillows and blanket from that as well. 

Once back downstairs, he tossed the Items onto one of the armchairs before giving Hannibal a hand to his feet. He moved Hannibal aside and then pushed one of the heavy couches closer to the fire. 

Hannibal watched, dazed slightly by the day’s events. Will’s movements were fluid and Hannibal placed them to muscle memory, most likely from nightmares that left Will not wanting to be anywhere near his bedroom, so he set up camp on the couch. 

The blanket was folded in half and placed over the couch, pillows going next. Will stood upright, hands on his hips as he turned to Hannibal. “Come lay down.” Hannibal followed the instructions and unwrapped himself from the warmth of the blankets around him so that he could lay on the makeshift bed. Will covered him up in the blankets once more and Hannibal curled up, heavy eyelids sliding shut. “I’m going to get more wood. I’ll be back in a moment. Get some sleep, _mô shè.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for my translations. I speak a bit of French and Spanish, but none of the other languages used. All translations are thanks to dear Google. 
> 
> mylimasis- precious
> 
> Oui mon cher- Yes, my dear
> 
> mô shè- my dear
> 
> Aš tave myliu- I love you
> 
> Jag älskar dig, Ti amo, Je t'aime- I love you.
> 
> Also, on another note, the pressure point for Will's migraine does exist. I've had migraines since middle school and sometimes, even with my prescriptions, that pressure point is the only relief I get and it really is an immediate relief, but only lasts as long as you hold the point. Anyways, just thought it was a cool little thing. Maybe it will help someone in the future.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remember snippets, blurbs of things and I don’t know if they are dreams or real or hallucinations.” 
> 
> “Could I possibly be of service?” 
> 
> “No offense, but the last time I let you help with my mind, I lost it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's kinda the wrong holiday in the book, but it was Christmas when I wrote this chapter. Oh well. I hope you guys enjoy it all the same.
> 
> Here are the songs for this chapter.
> 
> Unto us a child is born: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXgppSgSkoY
> 
> The Hallelujah Chorus: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GDKERcR_XFY
> 
> Overture from Handel's "Messiah": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssYWhU11lto
> 
> O Come Emmanuel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMe0Fi8OqE8
> 
> Clair De Lune: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2deXwf4drE
> 
> Half a man by Dean Lewis: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD5jhtkVuOY

* * *

A yellow light pulled Hannibal from his sleep with a deep inhale. It took a moment for his mind to shed the sleep away and to allow him to open his eyes. He groaned and quickly closed them again at the brightness of the sun through the window. 

His limbs ached, cheeks burning, skin damp with sweat and his lungs breathed out heat. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled, his lungs having no choice but to painfully and rigidly take in the chilled air around him, trying to put out the fever in his lungs. 

The crackling of fire made Hannibal open his eyes once more, blurred flames twirling about, most likely from just being fed. Hannibal blinked several times, rubbing at his eyes with frozen fingers, his body such a mess of hot and cold. 

He glanced around and slowly sat up, hands going to his chest that had a sweater on it. He was certain he had fallen asleep without anything on. By the front door was a large stack of broken down boxes and Hannibal tried to recall when the movers had come to drop anything off, but he couldn’t find any recollection of such an event.

There was a light snore and Hannibal glanced down to find Will. He was slouched between the fireplace hearth and the couch, head resting on the cushion by where Hannibal’s head would have been. 

He was dressed too, in his jeans, button up shirt and boots that looked wet, like he had just been in the snow. His glasses were crooked on his nose. In one hand was a book and in the other was a mug of tea that was steaming and dangerously close to being tipped over. 

There was a large pile of wood splinters across the heart and the floor that Hannibal frowned at. That would need to be cleaned. Will must have been splitting wood all night to keep the fire going. 

Hannibal stretched out on the couch and a side table that had clearly been moved, caught his eye. On it was a cup of water and a note telling Hannibal to take the aspirin when he woke. 

Hannibal gave a small smile and did as the note instructed before laying back down, letting his heavy head relax into the pillows. He reached out and gently caressed Will’s curls for a moment or two before the movement snapped Will into an upright position with a gasp. 

He turned around with concerned and wide eyes, chest rising and falling, book and cup completely forgotten. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, getting to his knees. His hand immediately took Hannibal’s forehead. “You’re burning up. You need some medicine. I will get it-”

“Will,” Hannibal interrupted gravelly, hand reaching out and taking the one that was still against his forehead. “I took some. Please calm down.” Will exhaled deeply, elbow resting on the couch cushion, head resting in his palm. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve just been worried. Been up all night unpacking and taking care of you and...” he trailed off with another sigh. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Hannibal pushed himself up on his elbow, head tipped to the side, muscles groaning at the movement. 

“Dozed a few times here and there. The fire went out once or twice. You would complain of being cold.” Will looked back up with bloodshot eyes behind his glasses. 

“Will, would you like to sleep?” 

“I’m alright,” he insisted, moving his things from the floor and to the hearth where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He rubbed at his eyes under his glasses and Hannibal frowned. 

“Lying is rude, Will.” Will flinched at the words, but didn’t look up. “Let me ask again. Would you like to sleep?” Will nodded with a small exhausted sob coming from his throat. He looked up, eyes brimming with tears. “Take off your boots.” Will obeyed, tossing the shoes to the side. Hannibal lifted the edge of the blanket and Will hesitantly rested himself on the couch, slotting himself against Hannibal. Hannibal let the blanket drape over Will as Will quickly buried his face deep into Hannibal’s flushed neck. “You unpacked everything?” 

“Yes,” Will muttered, his lips tickling in their light touch against Hannibal’s skin. 

“And kept the fire going all night?” 

“Yes.” 

“And took care of me?” 

This time Will nodded, hiding further against Hannibal. Hannibal removed his glasses and set them on the arm of the couch. His fingers played with Will’s curls, the other hand rubbing soothing circles into Will’s back. 

“You’re such a good boy, Will,” Hannibal said. Will shivered at the compliment and Hannibal quickly stored that away to use against Will later. “Sleep now.” 

* * *

The day wore away lazily between dozing off against each other, taking more medicine, and the reading of Dante while fingers tangled in curls and lips kissing opened mouthed and satisfyingly easy over skin. 

“ _Poscia ch'io v'ebbi alcun riconosciuto, vidi e conobbi l'ombra di colui che fece per viltade il gran rifiuto_ ,” Hannibal said, nuzzling his nose into Will’s hair and inhaling deeply of the smell of that aftershave that he detested but was simply a mark of Will’s now. 

“What does that mean?” Will whispered, hiding his face in Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal paused, blinking as he tried to separate himself from the literary world he had been sucked into. 

It was the first time that Will had asked for a translation from Hannibal about the book and Hannibal was surprised it had taken him that long to ask. 

Hannibal hummed as he read over the words once more, trying to find the right words in English, the still lingering fever making it hard for him to work. 

"After I had recognized someone," he began slowly, testing the words. "I saw and knew the shadow of him who made the great refusal for cowardice." 

Will let the words encircle him and couldn't help but feel as if the words were describing him in a sense, curious if Hannibal had changed something in translation to make it relate more to him. 

"Is that what it really says, Hannibal?" Will gave a yawn and Hannibal smiled softly. 

"Of course," he whispered, placing a kiss to Will's curls. 

"I didn't think you would be one to laze around all day without ever getting dressed," Will pointed out. 

Hannibal closed the old book and set it aside with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t think I ever have before. But I also have never suffered from a fever like this before.” Will sat up a bit more, hands resting on Hannibal’s chest, chin on his hands, an expectant and waiting expression on his face. “I am not often taken ill,” Hannibal explained. “And if I am, I can usually get rid of it with a bit of fresh lemon tea and some exercise.” 

Will frowned at that with a disgusted look. “That’s the last thing I would want to do if I was sick.” 

“Today has been rather pleasant, I agree.” Hannibal combed his fingers through Will’s hair for the millionth time that day, unable to get enough of how silky smooth the curls were and the way that the late afternoon sunlight from the large window made his curls shine with a coppery tone. “Thank you.” 

Will’s eyebrows furrowed and a confused expression plastered over his face. “For what?’ 

Hannibal chuckled, warm and amused. Will tipped his head to the side to hear the rumbling in Hannibal’s chest better. “What do you think I would be thanking you for, pretty boy?” Hannibal smiled as Will quickly hid his face in his hands in hopes that Hannibal wouldn't see the dangerous amount of blush that had covered his cheek. “Look at me,” Hannibal ordered in a firm voice, one that Will was sure he had heard be used against him before, though he couldn’t quite place it. When Will didn’t obey, Hannibal’s fingers that were in his hair took handfuls of the locks and pulled until Will was looking up at him. "All of your attention must always be on me." 

Will gave a single nod in response and Hannibal smirked. 

"Good boy," he whispered, words so horribly familiar that it gave Will the sense of a dark room on a couch, drugs making the room swirl. "Never cover your face in front of me again, do you understand?" 

Will gave another small nod and Hannibal released the tight grip on his curls, soothing away the small pain with massaging fingers. Will licked his lips and glanced around the room before returning back to Hannibal’s face. 

“Have we had this conversation before?” Will pushed himself up from where he was draped over Hannibal’s body and got to his feet, running fingers through his hair as he tried desperately to pull the memory up, wishing to rid himself of his constant battles of _deja vu._

“And if we have?” Hannibal asked curiously, pushing himself in a more sitting up position on the couch, pushing his shoulders back in a stretch that cracked his spine. 

“I...” Will began pacing, his socks sliding against the wooden floor. “I remember snippets, blurbs of things and I don’t know if they are dreams or real or hallucinations.” 

“Could I possibly be of service?” 

“No offense, but the last time I let you help with my mind, I lost it.” Will shook out his hands as he walked back and forth in front of the fireplace that had long since gone out. “What did you give me? I remember a needle.” His breathing became short and ragged, remembering a time when needles and bright lights were a normal therapy session that he had somehow been convinced into. 

“Simply some morphine,” Hannibal replied nonchalantly as if there was no possible other way that he would give Will anything else but the very best medication for his health. “That might be the cause of you being unable to remember.” 

Will paused in his steps and glanced over at Hannibal. “I wasn't on morphine for two months. What did you do to me? What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I merely kept my promise, Will.” Hannibal rose from the couch and straightened his maroon sweater with a deep breath. “You slept most of the time. It was your body’s way of trying to heal itself. It works better if all other necessary functions are off. The morphine was simply to help with the pain from you having torn your stitches out.” 

“You’re still not telling me something, Hannibal,” Will accused, stepping over to Hannibal. 

Hannibal gave him a faint smile, took Will’s arms in his hands and placed a grounding kiss to Will’s forehead. “You trust me, don’t you _mylimasis_ _?”_ Will opened his mouth, but found nothing coming out. Did he? The internal struggle pulled Will’s chest tightly across his ribs and he had trouble finding breath. After a moment of silence, Will finally gave a nod and a hushed yes. “Then trust me that I will tell you all of the answers you seek in due time. I promise you will know one day.” 

“And you keep your promises,” Will whispered with a sigh, disliking the truth in Hannibal’s voice. Hannibal gave a small nod and Will pulled back. “We should probably eat something. Did you want to cook? I believe it is Christmas Eve. Do you ever do something special for that?” 

“Not ordinarily,” Hannibal answered as he watched Will step away from him and go to push the couch back to where it had been, putting a shattering end to a lovely day. “I spend the majority of my holidays alone unless I am invited to a dinner party.” 

“We don’t have to do anything special.” 

Hannibal moved beside Will as he struggled to push the couch and added his strength to it. Will glanced over, shocked at how easily the couch moved back to where it needed to be placed and he was wondering if maybe his adrenaline had made it possible to move the couch last night. 

“Did you ever do anything special, Will?” Hannibal straightened up and went to move the side table back to where it belonged. 

Will’s hands rested on his hips with a huff of air. “No. Dogs can replace human contact, but they do not give great gifts.” 

Hannibal smiled fondly at the comment. “And as a child?” 

Will hissed in air through his teeth with a wince. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to ask about my childhood anymore, Dr. Lecter.” Will moved to the now correctly placed couch and picked up one of the blankets, beginning to fold it up. 

“Just an honest conversation between friends.” 

“Is that what we are?” Will scoffed, reaching for one of the other blankets and watching as Hannibal did the same. 

“I would hope by now you would consider us as such,” Hannibal answered in his cool and calm voice, placing the much neater folded blanket on the couch next to Will’s. 

“What would you consider us?” 

The words made Will’s own hands freeze momentarily, shocked at how easily they slipped from his lips, how easy speaking to Hannibal was now that he wasn’t being required to see him for his work. Will looked up and caught the remnants of a half smile on Hannibal’s lips. 

“I do not know if my opinions are what are important in this conversation,” Hannibal said softly, sitting back down on the couch and stretching out his injured leg, massaging at his knee gently. “And you are well aware of how I feel, _caro_.” 

Will felt a slight shiver run down his spine at the word, despite not knowing exactly what it meant. Hannibal’s skilled tongue would always make him shiver. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to escape Hannibal’s grasp now that they were here. Too tangled. Too muddled. Far, far too mentally close for their own good. 

Will knelt down in front of Hannibal and gently pushed his red striped lounge pants up to look over his knee. The bruising still flowered over his leg, the edges now a mustard yellow rather than the violent black and blue the rest of it still was. 

“You said you twisted it yesterday,” Will muttered, fingers gently pushing into Hannibal’s knee, trying to feel for the injury, but unsure what he was looking for. “How are you doing?” 

“There’s a dull ache,” Hannibal explained, hand reaching out and petting Will’s curls, unable to keep his hands out of them when they were so easily in reach. 

“When are you going to start physical therapy?” 

“We can do it together. We need to get the movement back into your arm,” the doctor suggested. “After Christmas we can start. Let us just enjoy these first few days.” 

Will gave a small nod in agreement, unsure if he could push Hannibal any further. “And your head?” Will questioned, hands now leaving Hannibal’s knee and reaching for the cut that was on his forehead. His thumb traced over it gingerly, the marking rough against his skin. 

“Perfectly intact.” 

“Good.” Will’s hand dropped to Hannibal’s cheek, thumb stroking across his silver stubble. 

The movements were swift, Hannibal’s hand tangled in curls seizing a fistful at the base of Will’s neck and pulling him up, pulling him dangerously close, nose to nose. Will’s breath caught at the movement and Hannibal enjoyed the way that Will’s eyes widened at the suddenness. Hannibal gave a small smirk at the racing breath that controlled Will’s lungs as Hannibal’s lips skimmed over the empath’s. Will tried to push forward, but Hannibal’s held him still by his hair and Will gave a small whimper at the lack of contact. 

“Why,” -Will swallowed and licked at his lips in the small space between the two of them- “do you always do this?” 

“I’m afraid I need you to explain what you mean, Will,” Hannibal jested, once against brushing his lips against Will’s without making full contact. Will’s hands gripped at Hannibal’s thighs as something to help tether him to the now and not get lost in his head. 

“You make me want you.” 

“Despite everything?” 

“Despite everything,” Will agreed, eyes fluttering shut. “Despite everything you’ve done and everything you are, I want you.” 

As if answering Will’s thoughts, Hannibal loosened his grip in Will’s hair and at the freedom, Will jumped forward, mercilessly snatching up Hannibal’s lips with his own. Will’s hands left Hannibal’s thighs and tangled into the red knit sweater, yanking Hannibal closer, his body still hot with fever. 

Will rose from his aching knees and straddled Hannibal’s lap without breaking contact, hands quickly moving to Hannibal’s silvering hair and raking through the locks as if his life depended on it, body pressed as closely to Hannibal’s as he could make it. 

Will broke the kiss, breathing hard, Hannibal looking just as much at a loss for air as he was. “Are you always this desperate, _caro_?” Hannibal questioned, voice and accent thick. 

Will growled and kissed Hannibal again, heatedly, teeth latching onto Hannibal’s bottom lip, harshly pulling on it. “You do that on purpose,” Will hissed through his teeth before biting down on Hannibal’s lower lips again. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?” 

_Of course you do, you just won’t tell me._

“Tell me, _mon_ _cher_.”

Will moaned and lowered his head to Hannibal’s shoulder, taking one of Hannibal’s hands from his hips and sliding it under the hem of his shirt, resting it against his stomach. Curious fingers traced a deep scar that was raised against smooth skin. 

“I feel it here,” Will explained, flattening Hannibal’s hand against him, pulling those wandering fingers away from a wound he would love to leave in the past. “When you speak, it's here and you make my legs go weak.” 

“ _Ti farò molto di più_ _,”_ Hannibal whispered, nipping at Will’s ear. There was a rush of exhilaration in his fingertips as Will’s muscles contracted under his open palm and a shudder went down Will’s spine with a light sigh of breathy air. “ _Aš įsitikinsiu, kad prisimeni._ ” Another fluttering of muscles and a moan. 

“Did you do that for other people too?” Will asked as he kissed at Hannibal’s neck, hands traveling the length of Hannibal’s torso, trying to memorize it. “Did they like it as much as me?” 

“ _No. Solo per te, caro_ ,” Hannibal replied. He gave a small gasp as teeth bit into his exposed collar, eyes closing. “Only for you.” 

“Promise?” Will pulled back, chest heaving as his breath tried to steady itself. He watched as Hannibal’s eyes opened and focused on him closely, amber alight. “You promise, Hannibal?” 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Hannibal whispered, a hand cupping Will’s cheek. “Are you that desperate to have something of me that no one else has?” 

“Hannibal.” 

Will’s tone was firm and demanding, making Hannibal smile. He brushed back one of Will’s curls from his face and looked over the empath for a moment longer, fingers tracing over his swollen lips. 

“I promise,” Hannibal whispered. “Though you already know that you have every part of me that I’ve hidden away. I’m not sure what a promise like that could mean to you.” 

“Everything, Hannibal.” Will leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s lips. “Only I should be allowed to know anything about you.” With another small kiss to stunned lips, Will pushed himself from Hannibal’s and went to the kitchen to begin looking through the food that was there, his stomach knotting itself up as the realization of what those words meant flooded his system. He cleared his throat and opened up the fridge. He wasn’t about to let Hannibal dwell on them. “When I was younger my father and I would celebrate Christmas, I suppose.” 

He could feel Hannibal’s presence behind him as he entered the kitchen and Will was quick to close the fridge and move to the pantry, not really paying much attention to the items that were in there. 

“We never had a tree or anything like that. We moved around too much,” Will continued, feeling Hannibal’s eyes digging into his back. “It was mostly just a gift or two and some crappy gas station sandwiches or turkey TV Dinners for dinner. But we always watched Miracle on 34th Street. Every year, curled up on an old couch, cheap hot chocolate in hand, watching a stupid movie.” Will gave a shrug at the idea. “ He’d sober up, too. Once a year, just for me, he wouldn’t drink for a week. It wasn’t much, but it was... nice.” 

“Are you telling me you would like sandwiches for dinner?” 

Will snorted and turned with a bright smile at the jab to find Hannibal leaning against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “You can’t tell me that you’ve never just sat down and had a sandwich.” 

“Only during my schooling at John Hopkins,” Hannibal admitted, head tipping to the side as he thought several decades back. “It was about the only thing the school served that wasn’t deep fried and I didn’t have the means to eat off campus.” 

“What would you like for dinner then?” Will asked, closing the pantry. 

“You.” 

Will stared, a deep red filling his cheeks and dipping below his shirt. He wanted to hide away, but the earlier commands from Hannibal kept him in place, heart beating like a drum in his chest. Hannibal gave a smirk and pushed himself from the counter, a hand taking Will’s cheek. 

“You’re such an obedient boy, aren’t you?” he teased softly, chuckling lightly as Will shivered, eyes closing with a deep breath. He released Will and went to the pantry, opening the door and looking over the items he had had someone get for them. He pulled out some potatoes, garlic, an onion, a large block of chocolate and some beef broth. “How does Shepherd’s Pie sound?” 

“With chocolate?” Will asked curiously, heading over to the counter that Hannibal had put his ingredients on. Will pulled the chocolate to him, the block at least a good pound in weight, dark in its deep color. 

Hannibal returned to the counter with an array of spices, some lamb, vegetables, worcestershire sauce as well as some sugar, cream, and butter. “The chocolate is for something else,” Hannibal explained, tossing Will an apron and tying his own around his waist, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. Will tied on his own apron and looked back up as Hannibal passed him a cutting board with a rather large knife, one much larger than anything that Will had been given to use while cooking before. “Can you cut up that bar?” 

“The whole thing?” Will questioned, looking back over the chocolate that looked more like a brick now. 

“Just some of it is fine. We need about three ounces,” Hannibal answered, coming over with his own cutting board and starting to peel the potatoes skillfully with a knife. Will admired him for a moment, the movements so fluid and effortless. Hannibal chanced a glance over at Will and grinned before returning his attention back to his work. “The chocolate, please Will.” 

Will gave an absent nod and put the unwrapped bar on his cutting board, taking the knife and trying to find the best way to angle the blade to cut into the chocolate. Finally deciding on a corner, he pressed into the chocolate, the chocolate breaking into bits across the cutting board. 

“Hannibal, I have a question,” Will muttered as he put his weight into the next cut of the chocolate. Hannibal hummed in answer, washing off the potatoes before cutting them into pieces and tossing them into a pot. “When I was trying to solve the Chesapeake Ripper case, you were always going to kill me, weren’t you?” 

Will could make out the small pause in Hannibal’s work, sure that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. “What brings you to that conclusion?” Hannibal asked carefully, as if he didn’t want to walk down this path that Will was taking them. He filled the pot up with water, taking it over to the stove top and putting salt in the water, setting it to boil. 

“I was getting close and I know you’re not stupid, Hannibal. You took out Miriam Lass when she found you.” Another loud crack from the chocolate, the knife leaving a red mark down Will’s palm as he pressed into it as leverage. “When were you going to kill me?” 

Hannibal was quiet as he began to dice the onion with quick movements that reminded Will of those insane chefs on the internet that somehow still had fingers once they were done working. “When was I, Will?” 

Will stopped cutting the chocolate and lowered the knife, letting it sit on the counter. Will closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, playing along with Hannibal’s little game. He let the pendulum swing until he was no longer in a cozy cabin in the mountains and back in Baltimore, Maryland, in an office with a large library and two leather chairs next to a fire. 

Will sat with legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, across from himself, in Hannibal’s normal seat. Will rose to his feet and straightened his tie before heading around the desk. 

“I make an excuse to go to my liquor bar, whisky glass already laced with gamma-hydroxybutyrate, a drug that will make you immobile, but not render you unconscious. You will be awake and nearly fully aware.” Will poured the respective drinks into the glasses and took them to the patient sitting in the chair. Will sat back in his own chair, sipping at the wine from his glass as the Will across from him downed the two fingers of whiskey quickly. “The drug will make you feel euphoric, after all, I did promise you would enjoy it.” 

Will placed his wine glass aside on the small glass table next to the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. 

“It’s a waiting game now, but I have the time. You are my last appointment after all,” Will continued on, watching as the Will in front of him slowly showed a face of dislike. “You try not to put any thought to the fact that there’s a salty tinge to the whiskey, something that shouldn’t be among the oak and smoke.” 

Will rose to his feet, straightening his tie once more before striding across the space, kneeling beside himself, checking for a pulse at his wrist, finding it fluttering. 

“You follow along willingly through the house and down into the basement, my lamb going to my slaughter.” Will guided himself through Hannibal’s home and to the stairs leading to the basement. When he entered, he found the room cold with medical equipment set up and sterile. “You do not need to worry. I never leave a trace, just my art and you will be my _magnum opus_. You will not be my last, but you will be my greatest. You will be the one that is remembered. After all, it is what you deserve.” 

Will pushed the other Will onto a stainless steel slab then went to work cutting at his shirt sleeve to add an IV to his skin, then worked on removing the rest of the clothes with a pair of overly sharpened scissors, until Will laid shivering and naked on the slab. 

Gloves were pulled over hands, and then there was a caress to the drugged man’s face, something akin to love. 

“I want you awake,” Will continued on, stapping his own hands down with velcro so that he wouldn’t grab when the creation began. “I want you here with me until the end, and I will make sure that you are here until the end, when I decide the end is.” 

Will moved over to where a clear plastic jumpsuit waited on a hanger, pulling it on over his suit and zipping it clear up to his chin, making sure every inch of his body was covered. 

Will picked up a scalpel from a small rolling tray stand that he pulled close. He placed the blade at the top of the drugged man’s shoulder, dragging the blade down, crimson pouring out and onto the table, being led away by a gutter along the edge of the draining slab. He went to the other shoulder and made a similar diagonal cut that met around his sternum, and then a long drag downwards to complete the Y. 

“I open you up and much to my delight, can see the inner workings of your body, the way parts of you move as they perform their function, now in shock from the stress I am causing on your body.” 

Will’s eyes trailed over the different organs that greeted him, stepping around the table in the other direction, only to continue to circle the slab, his reflection’s eyes staring at him in pain and surprise, aware of everything that was happening and in no way able to stop it. 

“I have a plan. I know exactly what to extract to make you live as long as I can, but you’re not frightened enough.” With an unnatural rage, Will’s hands took hold of the ribcage, his own strength Hannibal’s as he pulled the two halves apart. A sickening cracking filled the basement as the ribs splintered and opened to make room for the other organs to be exposed. 

The man on the slab cried out, though no one would hear him. Will would be the only one to ever hear the last breaths of his own lungs in this room underground. 

Will reached out and stroked a gloved finger over his beating heart, thrilled at the twitch it made at the contact. 

“I will save the heart for last, it will be the last thing you remember,” Will said strongly, eyes flickering over his work, making sure that the IV was still working and that the items needed for a blood transfusion were ready to go. “And I will not let you go unconscious on me.” Will’s eyes met his own and he frowned. “You’re still not scared enough. It’s not registering.” 

Will leaned down over the body and kissed at the heart that beat madly from the drugs and adrenaline. The blood was warm against Will’s lips and he stood upright, the crimson dripping down his chin. 

“I will devour you, you need to understand this. I need you to understand this.” Will stepped closer to himself and leaned down once more, placing a deep kiss to the drugged man’s lips, slicking him in his own blood. “You’re terrified now, your eyes deliciously wide. How alive do you feel?” 

With the scalpel still in hand, Will walked back around the table, letting the blood stain his chin and drip onto his plastic covering. He placed the scalpel back on his tray and grabbed two pairs of forceps, clamping them down on either side of the stomach. Scalpel now back in hand, he cut just below the forceps until the stomach was completely detached and he pulled it free, placing it in a box of ice for fresh keeping. 

“This is my design.” 

Will blinked with a deep inhale, frantically looking around until he was able to place himself back in a kitchen, somewhere in New York, making dinner on Christmas Eve. He looked around until he found Hannibal at the sink, draining the potatoes. 

“Welcome back, Will,” Hannibal said as he placed the now drained pot on a hot pad. There was a warmth to the kitchen and the rich smell of wine and worcestershire mixed together. The chocolate was no longer in front of him but in a bowl, waiting to be used. The knife and cutting board had been removed and beside him in a dish was what looked like a lamb stew, waiting to be topped with the potatoes that Hannibal was now mashing. “Will you please add some butter to these?” Hannibal lowered his fork, wiped his hands on his apron and then went to the fridge to get something else out. 

Will’s fingers trembled as he took the fork that Hannibal had been using and scooped a healthy portion of butter into the pot. He quickly dropped the fork back into the pot and ran a hand over his snow chapped lips, heart working wildly in his chest, the phantom warmth of blood on his chin. 

Hannibal returned with two containers and some sort of herb that Will was pretty sure was dill. “Can I have the cream, Will?” Will glanced around and upon finding the cream, handed it over to Hannibal who poured a healthy portion into the potatoes. 

“You’re-you’re not going to ask?” Will stuttered out, both hands taking the edge of the counter to stabilize himself. 

“You would tell me eventually,” Hannibal answered, scooping something that looked like sour cream into the potatoes. “It would weigh too heavily on your mind.” 

“You drugged my drink,” Will said with a deep breath. Hannibal didn’t stop working, was simply silent as he pulled at the dill, adding it to the mashed potatoes and waiting for Will to continue. “Something to keep me awake, but unable to fight you, like a date rape drug or something.” 

“I am partial to gamma-hydroxybutyrate,” Hannibal admitted, going to rummage in a cabinet for something before coming back. Will looked over and watched as Hannibal started to spoon the potatoes into a piping bag. “You can feel everything through it and if you were to survive, would most likely forget what happened.” 

“You promised that I would enjoy it,” Will pointed out with a shake of his head. “I don’t know where I came up with that information. The evidence guides me. I would have had to hear that at some point from you.” 

“The night we kissed that you don’t remember,” Hannibal explained, adding careful and dainty piping of potatoes on top of the lamb stew and vegetables. 

Will blinked with a questioning look, unsure how the conversation of enjoying his own death had come up, but he pushed it away with a shake of his head. “You strapped me to a draining table and cut me open like they do for autopsies.” Will’s hand went to his chest where his skin had been folded back to expose him. “You broke my ribs open and kissed my heart.” 

Hannibal glanced up from his nearly finished work, something like hunger in his eyes as he took in the line of Will’s body. “Did I?” There was a crest of a smile playing on his lips. 

“Would you?” 

Hannibal straightened up. “It might have occurred to me at some point.” he placed the bag of unused potatoes aside and took the glass dish, putting it in the oven and setting a timer. “Does that concern you?” 

“It might have at one point.” Will passed Hannibal the bowl of chocolate when he pointed to it and watched as Hannibal got another pot on the stovetop to keep working. “You don’t frighten me anymore.” 

“Pity,” Hannibal muttered softly, adding some sugar and cornstarch to the pot, turning on the heat. “I will have to try harder.” 

Will rolled his eyes and watched the way Hannibal’s back moved as he stirred together whatever he was making in the pot. “You then took out my stomach. You were going to take my organs out one by one, keep me alive the whole time.” Hannibal hummed, but Will couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or acknowledgement. “I was going to be your _magnum opus._ ” Hannibal glanced behind his shoulder and at Will for a moment with a look that Will couldn’t exactly place. 

“Can I have the cream once more, please?” Hannibal questioned. 

Will grabbed the carton and passed it over to Hannibal who dumped some into the pot. He then reached into a cabinet and grabbed a dark bottle of vanilla and poured some of that into the pot as well. 

“What artwork were you going to base me on Hannibal?” Will asked, stepping up behind Hannibal and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist and hiding his face into the back of Hannibal’s sweater between the man’s shoulder blades. “Was I going to be a classic like the man and woman in Florence or was I going to be an original like Isley?” 

“I had pictured using you to recreate The Creation of Adam,” Hannibal described, reaching for the chocolate and putting it in the pot as well. Will watched around Hannibal’s arm as he stirred the concoction together continuously to not burn it as the chocolate melted. “Only your body would be fit for such a thing.” 

“Not as God?” 

“Adam was painted with such detail it would be a shame for you not to be Adam.” Hannibal pulled the pot from the stove top and Will released him to let him move around the kitchen. The pot was put on a hot pad and Hannibal fetched two mugs from the cupboard before returning and spooning the thick mixture into the cups, something that looked a lot like chocolate pudding. “But, I had other ideas after a time.” He passed Will a mug and Will looked over it for a moment before slowly taking it. “You said your father made you hot chocolate, so I just thought...” Hannibal trailed off, avoiding Will’s gaze and Will couldn’t stop the smile that covered his lips. Was he really this human? This compassionate? This understanding? This... empathetic? 

“I feel like you might recall my sketch of Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus,” Hannibal pressed on, taking a small sip of his drink. Will followed suit and Hannibal gave a pleased look as Will’s eyes closed. “Is it ok?” 

“More than ok, Hannibal,” Will whispered, lowering the cup from his lips. 

Hannibal chuckled at the chocolate that lingered on Will’s lips. He leaned in, kissing Will, tongue trailing over Will’s lips to clean up the mess that Will had left behind. Will sighed against Hannibal’s lips at the contact, feeling empty when Hannibal pulled away. 

“You’re incredibly calm for discussing your death,” Hannibal commented, taking another sip from his mug. 

“My life is death,” Will pointed out, stepping closer to Hannibal, resting his head against Hannibal’s shoulder just as he had on the cliff top. One of Hannibal’s hands wrapped around Will’s waist, holding him close. “You haven’t answered my question.” 

“Original,” Hannibal replied, thumb gently caressing Will’s hip. “My _magnum opus.”_

Will’s mind wandered over all of the firm facts and plausible details that Hannibal always liked to hint to but never confirm. He wasn’t sure what made him so calm around Hannibal now. Maybe it was the acceptance that he was a monster, but becoming this beast’s most treasured masterpiece was an honor that didn’t belong to anyone else and never would belong to anyone else. It was strictly Will’s and always would be. And as odd as it sounded, he didn’t mind the thought. 

“I need to rest my knee, Will,” Hannibal whispered, trying not to break the small comfort that was filling the kitchen. 

“I can start a fire,” Will offered, pulling back from Hannibal and placing his mug on the counter. “Tomorrow I can go chop up some more wood.” Will left Hannibal in the kitchen, staring after bouncing curls. “Do you have anything to play Christmas music on?” Will shrugged into his coat and stumbled as he tried to tug on his boots to go outside. Hannibal smiled faintly at Will’s clumsy movements. 

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Hannibal answered, eyes locked on Will as the man went for the door to the deck to gather up some wood for the fire. “When you come back...” Will stopped with his hand on the door knob, turning back at the hanging sentence. “Nothing,” Hannibal covered with a wave of his hand. Will gave an unconvinced nod and left the cabin, closing the door behind him and letting a rush of cold air into the house. 

Hannibal rested his mug on the counter and wandered over to his things that were still on the dining table, things that Will hadn’t touched. His eyes fell on the notebook that he kept all of his notes in, a hard habit to break, but one he once more found necessary. He took the notebook and hid it away in his bag, pulling out the box that he had bought from the antique shop, opening it and looking inside to make sure that everything was still in its place before closing it again and making his way to the piano. 

He sat down, placing the wooden box on the bench beside himself, fully debating whether or not he should follow through with his idea. He often didn’t second guess any choices once they had been made, but Will had changed all of that. Everything was a second guess with Will. Will was an uncertain anomaly that Hannibal couldn’t quite figure out how to navigate, a compass that didn’t point north. 

His fingers stretched out along the keys, running through the endless sheet music he had stored away in his mind from music lessons in France with a music teacher that taught him more than just music. A teacher he had manipulated into showing him more than music. So much more than music. 

The first few notes were simple as all baroque music was until each of its individual parts started and separated into its own melody. The bass started the moving melody until the right hand took over, switching back and forth to make up for the lack of voices in a choir. 

The door opened and Will made his way over to the fireplace, placing the logs into the log holder. He stopped and stepped over to the piano, coming to look over Hannibal’s fingers moving easily over the keys as if he had been playing this song his whole life. 

“The Messiah?” Will questioned, surprised that he knew what it was. “Unto Us a Child is Given?” 

“Born,” Hannibal corrected, not at all upset about the mistake. 

“It sounds a little happy for you,” Will commented with a small smile at the complex tune that Hannibal was carrying. He left Hannibal’s side and went to start the fire. 

"It's the only Christmas music that I do not find atrocious," Hannibal explained with a shrug. "Would you rather I subject us to jingle bells or something of the sort?" 

"Can't say that that is my favorite." Will gave a small laugh, matches lighting some newspapers. With the fire finally going, Will returning to the piano as Hannibal began another. The Hallelujah Chorus.

Hannibal glanced up and felt a fond smile over his lips at the snowflakes that were still stuck in Will's curls, lace among copper. There was something beautifully romantic about it that made Hannibal's hands hesitate and a wrong note slip out. 

"It always surprises me," Will said, picking up the wooden box he recognized, and taking a seat beside Hannibal, "how imperfect you can actually be. It's so hard to see you as anything other than faultless." 

Hannibal's hands lowered from the keys and he flexed them as if they were sore and needed to be stretched out. 

"Regardless of what I do, despite how good it is, it will never be faultless." Hannibal's words were mumbled into the room, barely audible. He reached back out for the keys, but fell short at Will's firm concentration on the box. "It's for you," Hannibal explained, starting the Overture of The Messiah, his honest favorite of the oratorio. He made the notes sharp and short, avoiding the sustain pedal so the notes wouldn't carry just as the strings in an orchestra would play it. "You can open it." 

Will's fingers trailed over the wood of the box while music still ran through the cabin, the fire crackling in the background while snow fell outside, everything feeling strangely dreamlike and out of a cliché Christmas movie, but Will couldn't bring himself to mind. It was everything he had grown up watching on the TV and everything he never had the chance to experience. 

The music stopped and Will looked up at an impatient Hannibal. If it was one thing the man couldn't stand, it was not getting compliments when he did something nice, often fishing for them if they weren't freely given. 

Will smiled lightly and unlatched a clasp, opening the lid of the small box. Now that Will saw the contents he desperately wanted to understand how Hannibal had seen the item in the shop from a dirty window. 

Fly fishing lures stared back at him, feathers of different colors arranged beautifully. A Red Ibis, a Yellow Mary, a Royal Coachman, and so on. Each one hand crafted and cared for through the years. 

"Merry Christmas Will," Hannibal said softly, voice not searching for a compliment in the slightest, just happy to be in the moment. Fingers started on the piano again, this time in a more traditional song, O Come Emmanuel. 

Will licked his lips and looked up from the gift. "Thank you, Hannibal," Will whispered, a finger reaching out to caress one of the feathers carefully. He leaned over and placed a kiss on Hannibal's cheek, making Hannibal's hands freeze on the keys, still not used to Will reaching out first. "That was incredibly kind of you."

Will pulled back, looking once more over the gift that Hannibal had put time and thought into. 

Hannibal's hand went to his cheek and he quickly cleared his throat, pushing the blush away from his cheeks. "Do you want a drink?" he asked with a dry mouth, getting to his feet and heading over to the bar without confirmation from Will. 

He could hear the plunk of random keys being played, a small tune that he had taught Will once upon a time before one of his relapses, the tune obviously still within Will's subconscious. 

Hannibal poured their normal glasses of drinks and wandered his way back to the piano, placing the cups down on the edge of the piano before sitting down beside Will. 

Will looked up with curious eyes, clearly asking if Hannibal knew how he knew how to play the piano. 

"Start again," Hannibal instructed gently, a single hand reaching out to the piano as well. 

Will nodded and licked at his lips nervously, playing the first three chords of Clair De Lune before Hannibal added the fourth, a soft lullaby complimenting the falling snow in the nearby window. 

"G flat," Hannibal reminded in a whisper as they reached the odd note that Will had always missed. 

Will stared as their hands worked together, desperately wishing he knew why he could play. As far as Will could recall, he had never once touched a piano, let alone made anything musical come from the instrument. So how could he play? 

Will's heart picked up in his chest as Hannibal's fingers stretched to hit several notes at once, keys further apart than Will could probably ever stretch his fingers. 

Will stole a glance up at Hannibal with blushing cheeks and a wrong note on his part quickly broke the simple spell that had Will flushed across every inch of his body. 

"Sorry," he whispered softly, hand slipping from the piano. 

Hannibal hushed him and moved in to steal a kiss from his lips, but before he had the chance, the timer on the oven went off, signaling that dinner was ready. 

Will sighed as Hannibal rose from the bench and took long strides to the kitchen. 

_Always your cooking, Hannibal_ , Will thought as he picked up his two fingers of whiskey and sniffed at the cup. 

"Gamma-hydroxybutyrate does not have an odor," Hannibal called from the kitchen as if he knew exactly what Will was thinking. "And I did not drug your drink." 

Will smirked and downed the drink, simply tasting oak barrels and smoke, no intruding salt. 

He set his glass aside, next to his gift, and turned his attention to the guitar that was still sitting in its stand, untouched. Will looked back to where Hannibal was busy plating their food, wishing he could guess if the guitar came with the place or if Hannibal had somehow known and gotten it for him. 

Whatever the reason was, Will picked it up, lightly strumming the strings just enough to hear if it needed to be tuned. With a wince, Will quickly went about twisting the pegs until he found a sound that he liked, thoroughly unsure of what any of the notes or strings were called. 

First finger, second feet, second string. Second finger, third feet, first string. Third finger, third feet, sixth string. 

Will strummed and the chord filled the space, echoing about louder than Will had wanted it to. He could hear the pause in dishes in the kitchen and Will once more blushed, quickly wanting to put the guitar back in its stand and leave it there to collect dust. 

“Play something for me?” Hannibal asked, making his way back from the kitchen, dinner forgotten and attention completely on Will. 

“You did know,” Will shot at Hannibal who simply shrugged, picking up his wine glass from the piano. “How did you know?”

“Your left hand,” Hannibal answered, taking a mindful sip of his wine. Will looked down at it, wiggling his fingers, trying to see what Hannibal did. “Your fingers are longer and more calloused than your right. This occurs in string players who have to reach extensively for notes. Given your upbringing and your lack of classical training, any orchestral instrument was out of the question. It’s safe to say that you don't know anything about the shamisen or gusle. A guitar would be the only logical conclusion from growing up in the south, to having to travel so much that you needed something portable and the fact that a guitar is far more popular than either a shamisen or a gusle or even a banjo.” 

Will blinked, eyes looking over his left hand’s fingers curiously, catching the way that Hannibal took another drink of his wine in satisfaction of his deduction. “I’m not even sure what half of those instruments you mentioned were, and I can’t stand the banjo,” Will explained, his fingers going back to the fretboard. 

“Play something for me and then we’ll eat.” 

Will sighed. “You’re holding me hostage again? Demanding music before giving me what I want?” 

Will was met with a bright smile from Hannibal. “It can be my Christmas gift. I’m not horribly picky.” 

“Dante was your gift,” Will grumbled, dragging his thumb over the strings again distractedly. 

“Which I paid for,” Hannibal reminded smugly. 

“You said I didn’t have to pay you back,” Will prompted with a frown. 

“Not with money, no. I wouldn’t expect you to give me something that I have more than enough of,” Hannibal explained, swirling the dark colored liquid in his glass by the stem. 

“Manipulating,” Will grumbled lowly, placing his fingers back on the strings. Muttering out loud the positions, hoping he didn’t embarrass himself in front of this man who had learned to play from tutors in France and Venice. “First finger, first fret, fifth and sixth string.” 

Hannibal watched curiously as Will’s fingers stumbled over themselves in search of the chord that they wanted. How long had it been since Will had played? Had he ever really been good? Not that Hannibal would mind. He couldn’t play the guitar, doubted he would ever dare to try. 

The chord played, buzzing slightly from not enough pressure on the strings from Will’s fingers. Will winced and pushed a bit harder, hitting the chord once more, a clearer sound being produced. 

“My father got me one for my birthday one year,” Will clarified. “I taught myself to play from watching videos on the internet, but I don’t really know anything technical or theory related. Just figured everything out by ear after I learned the basics.” 

Hannibal admired Will for that skill. Hannibal was good at a great many things, but he had never had an ear for music when it came to playing. He could read sheet music all day long and not have a single issue, but he could not listen to a song and play it without a guide. What another odd gift that the universe had decided to bless Will Graham with. 

Will worked slowly, finding each of the chords, his memory fuzzy as he tried to pull the long placed away information back to him. But after a moment or two of struggling, he could switch between the chords proficient enough to hopefully make Hannibal happy. 

He hummed along to the song that he was playing, trying to give enough to Hannibal without having to outright sing. He didn’t like singing, didn’t like his voice and nothing that Hannibal would say would make him think any differently. Especially not when his father sang very loudly and very off key. 

“What is that?” Hannibal asked, stepping a little closer to where Will sat on the piano bench, listening to the sad tune. 

“Just some stupid song that was on one of Molly’s stations in the car,” Will replied before returning to his humming. 

Hannibal took another swift sip of his wine, trying to quell the jealousy stirring in his stomach at the mention of Will’s wife. But there was something that Hannibal could have that she never could. “Sing it for me.” Will frowned at the order, his playing stopped completely. Hannibal bit his lip at how demanding the words that came from him were, knowing well that the demands didn’t work on Will, and had never worked on Will. “Please?” 

Will inhaled deeply, returning to his playing, starting where he had left off. “I’ve been running from my demons, afraid to look behind. I’ve been running from myself, afraid of what I’d find.” 

Hannibal listened carefully to the cookie cutter chords and the simple melody of the tune, but oddly enough didn’t find it as horrible as he found any music to be on the radio nowadays. It was beautifully haunting in its lyrics. 

“But how am I supposed to love you,” Will continued a little louder now, “when I don’t love who I am? And how can I give you all of me, when I’m only half a man?” Hannibal took another small step forward. “Cuz I’m a sinking ship that’s burning, so let go of my hand. How can I give you all of me when I’m only half a man?” 

The song fit Will’s voice better than any of the operas that Hannibal had made him learn. His voice was made for effortless, more straightforward pieces where the range wasn’t quite so large. Maybe Hannibal shouldn’t have tried so hard to mold Will into something he wasn’t. Murder was far different from music and each respected their own amount of pushing. 

“And no one can ever hurt me like I’ve hurt myself, cuz I’m made out of stone and I’m beyond help.” Hannibal could hear the click in Will’s throat as the truth of those words sunk into both of them. “Don’t give your heart to me.” He paused for a moment, voice thick when he started again. “But how am I supposed to love you when I don’t love who I am? And how can I give you all of me when I’m only half a man?” Will licked at his lips, fingers trembling as they changed to a new chord. “Cuz I’m a sinking ship that’s burning, so let go of my hand. How can I give you all of me when I’m only half a man?” 

With a final strum of the last chord, Will hurriedly put the guitar back on its stand and hand his hands over his face and through his hair. “Can we eat now?” 

“Of course,” Hannibal answered with a small nod, unsure what else to do to help Will from having made him so uncomfortable. 

* * *

“ _Voi cittadini mi chiamaste Ciacco: per la dannosa colpa de la gola_ ,” Hannibal read, finger at the top of the page, ready to turn it when he reached the end. He glanced over at a yawn from Will, who was curled up on the armchair, a blanket wrapped around his body. “ _Come tu vedi, a la pioggia mi fiacco._ ” Hannibal turned the page and opened his mouth to continue, but stopped at another yawn from Will. Hannibal marked the page with a stray piece of drawing paper and closed the book, setting it aside. “Time for bed, Will,” Hannibal announced kindly, moving over to the armchair with an out held hand to help Will to his feet. 

“What time is it?” Will grumbled tiredly, pulling the blanket closer around him like a child would. 

Hannibal glanced towards the clock on the mantle, studying it for a moment. “Nearly two A.M. Let’s get you into bed. You didn’t sleep last night.” When Will didn’t move, Hannibal reached down, gently pulling the blanket from Will’s grip, lifting Will from the chair and scooping the empath up into his arms. “Silly boy.” 

Will kept his eyes closed, listening to the beat of Hannibal’s heart in his chest as his ear pressed into the fabric of the sweater. Hannibal moved for the stairs, his limp more pronounced under the weight of Will’s body, but at least this time he wasn’t dead weight. 

“Your knee.” 

“Hush,” Hannibal ordered tenderly, taking the stairs slowly. When he reached Will’s room, he lowered Will into his bed, pulling the duvet out from under Will. His fingers unbuttoned Will’s shirt, pulling it from his shoulders. Next came Will’s pants, leaving Will in his normal t-shirt and boxers for bed. Hannibal folded the clothes and placed them on top of the dresser for Will to deal with in the morning. He moved back to Will, covering the dozing form in the duvet. He placed a kiss to Will’s head. “Good night, Will.” 

“Night,” Will got out, nearly completely out of it. 

Hannibal closed the bedroom door behind himself and then went back downstairs, busying himself with cleaning up dinner. He washed the dishes, made sure the fire was out and cleaned and the piano was wiped down before he made his way to his own room for the night. 

* * *

Will’s eyes flickered around the dark, watching the light from under his door for any hints of movement. Soon Hannibal’s footsteps passed the door and the hall light flicked off. He could hear Hannibal’s door close and then the shuffling of the man as he readied himself for bed. 

Will waited longer, fingers tight in the sheets, an anxious energy drumming through them. He waited for what felt like eternity, but according to the clock was only about twenty minutes, for the house to settle. 

Will pushed out of the covers of his bed and opened his door cautiously, glancing in both directions and finding no life there to be seen, went for the stairs. The moon lit up the house well enough for Will to make his way through the maze of furniture and to the dining table that no longer had Hannibal’s things on them. 

Will’s heart sunk and he rubbed at his chin, looking around in the dark until he found Hannibal’s bag hanging up on a coat rack. It was a long shot, but Will’s bare feet silently went down on the hardwood, one right after the other, toe to heel to make sure his steps were noiseless. 

That was another thing he had learned living with his father. A drunk dad was a pissed dad. If Will was up past his curfew, then he was punished. And some nights he was sent to bed without dinner, his father forgetting or yelling at him for any small thing he would do, sending him to his room the rest of the night. 

Each and every house or trailer that they moved into, Will would take the first day while his father was away working to learn the layout of the house, where the creaks in the floorboards were, if it was better to stay closer to the furniture, to wear socks or go barefoot. 

Will opened the bag and dug through it until he found the black leather notebook he had been searching for. He tucked it under his arm and made his way back up the stairs, making sure to step only on the very outside of each landing so that the boards wouldn’t make noise under his weight. 

Once back and safe in his room, Will closed and locked the door, turning on his bedside lamp, flipping the notebook open to the first page and skimming over the immaculate cursive. 

_Injuries include stab wounds to the shoulder and face. Both have been stitched. Head trauma, a concussion most likely. Sprained wrist._

Will looked down at both of his wrists and twisted them around curiously, his left feeling a little more stiff than his right. 

_Possible bruised lung._

Will inhaled deeply, curiously, but there was no pain to indicate that he had been injured. He skimmed the next few pages that were basically about how nothing was happening and how he was under strong sedatives to make sure he slept so his body could heal. 

With a bored sigh, Will flipped through the pages, words flying past, most of them unrecognizable in the fanciness of Hannibal’s writing. When Will was about to give up, two words caught his eye and he opened to the page that had _smoke inhalation_ on it. 

_The last few days have been difficult. Will is currently still in the hospital on oxygen constantly due to a severe case of smoke inhalation. I have just been released and told that I was lucky my burns weren’t worse or covering a larger area. I didn’t need a skin graft, but third degree burns do not concern me._

Will blinked, trying to recall having seen any such marks on Hannibal’s body from their heart sharing moments and came up empty. Only bruising on Hannibal’s knee. 

_I have been informed that the fire was caused by issues with the wiring in the house, that cunning boy. I am more than aware of Will’s actions. He had another relapse_ _, which is becoming more and more constant now._

Relapse? A relapse in what?

_He’s still on that cliff and I am unaware of how to help him return to the present at this moment in time. Maybe I can try stimulating his senses with something he recognizes._

But what had Will done? He was the cunning boy. Hannibal had called him that before, behind a wall made of clearness. 

_Will set the fire on the house after he drugged my wine with his own medical supplies. Thankfully he didn’t give me enough. I woke and found Will unconscious beside me, hand in mine. The heat was unbearable, thick with smoke. I dragged his body out of the house and a neighbor called for medical help._

Will blinked several times, the memory clear now. That dream was real. All of it had happened. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get Hannibal out, he had wanted Hannibal there. Wanted both of them dead as he had on the cliff. It was the best thing for them, for Jack, for the world. Two monsters taken out of it before they could hurt anyone else. 

Will closed the notebook, regretting having sought it out. He would be up all night, analyzing the dream until it was burned into his mind like he had wanted to be. 

He returned the notebook to Hannibal’s bag with the same caution and returned to his room, laying on the bed with hands folded on his stomach, eyes searching a ceiling that was being licked by orange flames and thick black smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poscia ch'io v'ebbi alcun riconosciuto, vidi e conobbi l'ombra di colui che fece per viltade il gran rifiuto- After I had recognized someone I saw and knew the shadow of him who made the great refusal for cowardice.
> 
> mylimasis-precious
> 
> caro- dear
> 
> mon cher- my dear
> 
> Ti farò molto di più. Aš įsitikinsiu, kad prisimeni. -I'll do much more to you. I’ll make sure you remember.
> 
> No. Solo per te, caro- No. Just for you, dear
> 
> Voi cittadini mi chiamaste Ciacco: per la dannosa colpa de la gola. Come tu vedi, a la pioggia mi fiacco.-You citizens called me Ciacco: for the harmful fault of the throat. As you can see, in the rain I feel weak.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentle. That was the word the monster had used. Will would hold onto that word as if it were the only thing in the universe. Because it was gentle. Each skim of lips and trace of tongue, each brush of fingers and dip of hips were nothing but gently maddening, sending Will so far into himself that he thought he would never be found again, only to be pulled back by books and wine and a weightless timelessness, free of the rules of physics and mathematics. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to give you guys two chapters today in celebration of Valentine's Day. It's about time they got to do something romantic and I used the wrong holiday in the last chapter. XD. This is also my first time really writing something like this. I'm not good at smut, so let me know your thoughts. And if you want me to add all the translations next to where Hannibal is speaking let me know and I will update it. Enjoy!

* * *

Will was unusually quiet at breakfast that morning, more quiet than what was normal, Hannibal noted. 

Normally it was a calm quiet, something simple and mindless. This quiet was loud and chaotic as if Will couldn't make his brain turn off. 

Hannibal paused, lowering his fork and knife to his plate, looking over Will's untouched dish and then back up to Will who had his hands folded under his chin and his eyes dead ahead.

"You seem distracted this morning, _cher_ ," Hannibal said with a sigh, wiping politely at his mouth before pushing his own food away to turn his attention to Will. 

Will blinked several times, being pulled from wherever his mind had decided to take him. He exhaled loudly through his nose and turned towards Hannibal, a hand covering his mouth. "What?" he questioned, voice groggy as if he were still trapped in his thoughts. 

"Are you alright?" 

Will inhaled deeply, rubbing at his face before lowering his arms onto the table. "Hannibal, you'll tell me the truth when I ask you this, won't you?" 

Hannibal leaned back in his chair and nodded, allowing Will to continue with his question. 

"The dream I had about the fire really happened, didn't it?" 

"Yes." 

Will nodded at the direct answer, a little taken aback by Hannibal straightforwardness instead of his normal beating around the bush. 

"Take off your shirt," Will instructed, voice cracking in its demand. 

Hannibal tipped his head to the side, blinking blankly several times before he rose to his feet. He unbuttoned his vest, pulled it off and folded it, setting it neatly on the table. Next was his tie, draped carefully over the back of his chair. He unbuttoned his shirt, Will watching his fingers work each button out of its cloth trap. Next came the French cuffs and the shirt was placed across the back of the chair as well, the cuffs on the table top. 

Hannibal's eyes met Will's watching to see if the man was satisfied, but Will still watched intently, waiting for Hannibal to continue. Hannibal obliged, pulling his undershirt over his head so he was bare chested and faced Will, waiting for what Will was going to do. 

Will's eyes trailed the length of Hannibal's body, expression discontent. "Turn around," Will instructed. 

Hannibal had never wanted not to do something more in his whole life, but if Will was remembering, then he had to help Will remember, despite how painful the memory was. And they had had five good days in a row, which was rare. He would do anything to make Will whole again. 

Will watched as Hannibal slowly turned around and Will got to his feet at the sight of what looked like a bleached patch of skin that covered up half of the brand that was left behind by Mason Verger. Something raised and scared. Something Will had failed to discover when he had been exploring Hannibal’s body previously. 

Will reached out with a shaky hand, but stopped himself, unsure on if it was appropriate to touch or not. He didn’t have permission. He was being presumptuous. Even with as much touching as Hannibal had been allowing Will, this was something different. Something deeply wounding and personal. 

Hannibal waited, taking in Will's hesitation for a moment. "You can touch it, if you would like. It doesn't hurt anymore." He waited in the anxious air until he could feel Will's calloused fingers press against the skin at his back, searching, exploring. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as Will's fingers grew more confident. 

"I'm so sorry, Hannibal," Will's voice choked out. "This is my fault. All my fault." 

"Will," Hannibal muttered, glancing over his shoulder to see tears brimming the empath's eyes. "It's alright." 

"It's not alright,” Will hissed through his teeth. “What on God’s green earth would make this alright? Even if you are a sadist or a masochist, this is not alright and I,” -Will pointed to himself and swallowed hard- “I did this to you." 

Will's hands dropped to his sides and Hannibal turned to see a single tear roll down Will's scarred cheek. He swiftly wiped at it and sighed, licking his lips with a sniffle. 

"I wish I could remember it happening. There's flashes of it and I know what I did, but I have no timeline to put it in and-and..." Will trailed off, rubbing at his elbow, with his face turned away from Hannibal. 

“Before the apartment in New York,” Hannibal offered, reaching out for his undershirt to pull it back on. Will’s hands stopped him and he stepped behind Hannibal to once more look over the flesh that was flamed licked. “We were in a house in Maine. You liked it there.” Hannibal could feel those curious fingers once again touching the sear, running over his right shoulder blade, outlining where the burn met unscarred flesh. 

“Did I?” Will whispered, his breath ghosting over Hannibal’s skin from how close he was. 

Hannibal shifted as Will’s fingers dipped over and between each of Hannibal’s affected ribs as if he were playing a glockenspiel and each bone was a note. 

Hannibal considered the question, weighing whether to answer it or to just let it be. He could tell Will about the house. That wouldn’t harm him. “You liked to sit by the window that overlooked the coast. You could see a lighthouse from the window.” 

“You had drawings of the lighthouse in the apartment,” Will muttered, fingers now dropping down to Hannibal’s hip, caressing his hip bone where the burn still stretched. “They were beautiful.” _You’re beautiful._

“Yes,” Hannibal confirmed, eyes closing as Will investigative fingers paused and were replaced with a small kiss. Will’s lips were soft, stubble dragging against Hannibal’s delicate skin as Will moved back up his body, placing more kisses to the pain he had caused. Hannibal’s hands took the edge of the dining table for balance as Will’s fingers dug into his hips to keep him in place. “Will...” he sighed. 

Each kiss held a sadness to it, an apology, something haunting and dark. Hannibal could feel something hot touch his skin that quickly cooled and he scrambled to try to name what it was, until he heard a small sob in Will’s throat. Tears... 

Will’s hands trailed up the front of Hannibal as he continued his kisses higher, over Hannibal’s ribs and eventually to his shoulder blade, fingers tangling into Hannibal’s chest hair, pulling Hannibal closer to him, holding him tightly, hiding his face once more between the man’s shoulder blades. 

Hannibal could make out the movements of Will’s face as he tried to hold back his tears that were still falling across Hannibal’s skin. He let Will cling onto him, just as Will had when they were crashing towards the Atlantic. Frightened gripping, jittery muscles, panicky breaths. 

“Will,” Hannibal whispered gently, hands reaching up and unlocking Will’s from himself. He turned and took Will’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Will,” Hannibal instructed, voice simply a breath. 

His thumbs wiped away the tears on Will’s cheeks and Will shook his head, hands taking Hannibal’s wrists, fingers stuttering when they found the scars there, the scars he had put there as well. His own design. _This was all my design_ _._

“Look at me, _brangus berniuk_ _.”_

When Will finally obeyed, the look that Hannibal gave him... Those alive maroon eyes probed deep into Will’s soul, desperately wanting to see everything there. His compassion burned stronger than any pain that had corroded Will’s heart.

The maroon look told Will, _I know something's not alright; and when you're ready, we can work it out together._

There was a realization that Will wasn’t alone, and that Hannibal wouldn’t judge him... Harshly. Not like Dr. Chilton or Dr. Bloom. Hannibal was there to help, just as he had promised. Always there to help, though the help was more than naught unorthodox. 

Will inhaled deeply and gave a small nod, fingers tracing the scars on Hannibal’s wrists, pulling them up to kiss them as well. Kiss his revenge, kiss his illogical thinking, kiss his design. 

“Hannibal, you have to promise me something, if I tell you about something I’ve done,” Will muttered against Hannibal’s wrists. “Promise not to be mad.” 

Hannibal didn’t have to guess. He had his suspicions. He could hear Will in the middle of the night and knew that Will wasn’t really asleep when Hannibal had carried him to bed. Hannibal pulled himself free from Will’s grasp, unsure if he wanted to hear Will’s confession. 

He took his undershirt and pulled it up over his head and then reached for his dress shirt. “You read my notes,” Hannibal said, straightening the sleeves down before beginning to button them up. He had had this conversation before, had found it much easier to be direct than to try to hide anything from Will. 

“Not all of them,” Will muttered, his tone hurt, but Hannibal did his best to ignore the pain in them, to push his own empathy down just as he did whenever he was killing. It was so difficult for Hannibal to do that with Will though. Not when Will was so empathetic of him. “I’m sorry.” 

“Curiosity is normal.” Hannibal straightened his sleeves, adding the cuffs back in before reaching for his tie. When he faced Will again, he could see an ashamed little boy, lost and damaged. “What we do with it is another matter entirely.” 

“I just wanted to understand,” Will supplied, voice rising in volume. “I just wanted something to make sense. I don’t know if I can keep living with these fragmented dreams, but I don’t know if I want to know everything that I’ve tried to do to you, because I’ve obviously done a lot.” 

“The fire was the worst of it,” Hannibal said, sitting back down and pulling his plate back, cutting into his Hangtown Fry. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Everything has been corrected for the time being. Please sit and eat.” 

“You wrote that I kept thinking we were at the cliff. I don't remember anything until waking up in that apartment." Will stepped closer to Hannibal, praying that somehow the man would take pity on him and answer his unspoken questions. _You know exactly what I’m asking, Hannibal._ “Help me,” Will whispered, hands twisting in each other. “Please.” 

“Go read the rest if you would like to know.” 

Hannibal wanted to take back the words as soon as he said them and he gave an odd look at the feeling he had never experienced before. He had never wanted to erase anything he said from the world, but there was always a first. Will was full of firsts. 

“Hannibal.” 

Hannibal lowered his silverware and rubbed at his face with a deep breath. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to have this conversation again. Not ever again. It was draining and painful. How many times had he already had it? At least a dozen. He hadn’t kept track, afraid it would just make him further depressed than he was each time he had to relive this same conversation. 

And it always turned out the same. Every single time it was the same. Will would leave out of anger, Hannibal would have to bring him back to protect him, and then maybe there would be another day or two of completely uncomfortable and irritated silence before the reset. 

Stress seemed to be a large factor in the reset. Remembering everything too quickly or being told and possibly wanting to forget. Maybe Will was doing it to himself. Memory suppression was not common, but it was something that one could learn to do and maybe Will didn’t know he was doing it to himself. 

He just kept closing down the neural connection, intentionally forcing himself to forget something that was too much for his mind to handle and eventually he wouldn’t remember. It was how habits were made and broken. You disrupt the pathway in your mind and rewire it into a different direction. Maybe... But it was all maybes. No one really knew how the mind worked or how it dealt with trauma and it wasn’t abnormal to suppress the memories of any form of trauma. 

“Please.” 

Hannibal rose from his seat at the beg, the same beg he had heard many times before, wishing that for once he could hear it in a much more pleasant aspect than in this same situation that was like a recurring nightmare. 

But Hannibal deserved it, didn’t he? God’s fun little punishment for Hannibal because the law couldn’t catch him, because Hannibal wasn’t unlike a god himself, though much more demonish than draped in glory. Somehow perfectly perfect in all aspects, always knowing the right thing to say, the right thing to do in any given situation. But God had given Hannibal Will on a silver platter. Will, who was never the right thing, never the right situation, never what he should be. And maybe that was why Hannibal was so attached. Will was always something that Hannibal could never predict and never wanted to be able to. 

God was funny, after all. Powerful killer and unjust. God liked to play with Hannibal just as Hannibal played with the living on earth. Will was a distraction, a game, something made just for Hannibal. An angel, just for him to get drunk on rose water, corrupt and suffocate with his own halo if Hannibal so pleased. An angel that could keep up with Hannibal’s mind, surpass him at times. An angel that would bewilder and capture and trap and train. Something to finally ensnare the devil himself and turn him into something else. 

Hannibal moved past Will, motioning the man to follow him. Will did as instructed, following Hannibal to the living room, sitting beside the killer on the couch. Hannibal stared ahead, eyes fixed pointedly on the fireplace as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands fists, supporting his chin. 

Will waited quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever Hannibal was thinking about, the silence between them more jagged than it normal was. Will watched Hannibal’s face curiously, noting each twitch of a muscle or frown, this conversation obviously being one that Hannibal didn’t want to have. 

“You suffered a decent amount of brain trauma after our fall,” Hannibal finally offered with a deep sigh, though he didn’t move from his position and didn’t look over at Will. “You took the brunt of the hit with the water. Since then you have had a form of amnesia that I can not seem to diagnose. Your mind will reset, send us back to the top of that cliff before we fell. It’s not a predictable pattern. Sometimes you can go several days, sometimes it is a daily occurrence.” 

Hannibal’s hand rubbed at his jaw and he sat up with a straight back, still not meeting Will’s burrowing gaze as the man listened in silence. 

“I wake up each morning wondering if you are going to be kind and gentle, clumsy Will, or that monster I unleashed in you.” 

“I try to kill you,” Will muttered softly. It wasn’t a question, not really. More of a breath of truth that Will put between them. 

“Often. But the fire was the worst of it. I don’t think you had fully reset during that one. I think the memories returned too quickly and you couldn’t process them,” Hannibal continued to explain. “You had to escape.” 

“How many times have you kissed me?” Will found himself asking. 

This brought Hannibal’s attention to him and he wore a puzzled expression as if this wasn’t how these conversations usually went. Hannibal had distanced himself as quickly as he could from Will after fully verifying that Will had read the notebook without permission, but now he found Hannibal opening up their normal connection, not so rigid and harsh in the line of his body. 

“Not often,” Hannibal admitted, voice small. “I was never sure what would upset you. I wanted to keep you for as long as I could. If I could keep your mind with me, then I would risk it, but this is honestly the longest moment I’ve had with you yet.” 

“Almost a week?” Will questioned, eyes wide. “I’ve never been with you longer than five days?” Hannibal shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back and behind his ear. 

“I’m scared to let you sleep at night,” Hannibal disclosed with a clearing of his dry throat. His heart pounded in his shirt and he was sure that Will would be able to see it despite all of the layers that he wore. He inhaled deeply again. “I have tried keeping you awake as well. It doesn’t help. If I don’t let you sleep, I get roughly twenty six hours before you reset.” 

Will struggled with the information that was being handed to him and he lowered his head into his hands as he tried to file it away, hopeful that this time maybe it would stick. Begging to any cosmic being or god that he wouldn’t forget, that this time he could hold on. 

“How many times have we had this conversation?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Enough.” Hannibal reached out and placed a cautious hand to Will’s knee, giving it a squeeze. 

“Maybe this time will be different,” Will suggested, looking back up at Hannibal whose face was stone cold, but eyes curious for the insight. “You said that this is the longest you’ve ever had with me. Maybe-Maybe I will remember. Maybe this time I won’t-”

“You will,” Hannibal interrupted, voice icy and clinical, making Will’s mouth go dry. 

Adrenaline flooded Will’s system, pumping and beating as if it were trying to escape. His heart might have been doing the same thing as it pounded in his chest making Will nearly certain it was going to explode. He wanted to run, wanted to hide, wanted to-wanted to... 

The adrenaline surged so fast that Will felt as though he was going to vomit, saliva thickening in his throat and beads of sweat trickling down his brow. No, he had to stay calm. Hannibal said it was from a mental overload of some sort. 

_Don’t let your mind run away with you, Will,_ he ordered himself with a deep breath to push the queasiness away. 

“I don’t want to forget,” he gasped out, breathing hard. Concern flooded Hannibal’s features. “Please, don’t let me forget.” It was a broken plea, one that Hannibal had no control over. One he wished he did control. Will was the first thing since his sister’s death that he hadn’t been able to control or manipulate in some way and it bothered him, made him anxious, made him desperately want to protect Will more than ever before. “Make me remember.” 

“How, Will?” Hannibal asked. “If you have any suggestions, I would gladly take them, because I have none of my own. I’ve exhausted all of my expertise.” 

“Memories are tied and triggered by stimulus. Taste, touch, sound, smell,” Will explained, shaking out his curls and making them go wild as he got to his feet. “I can remember a very specific camping trip that I took without my father’s permission each time I smell pancakes.” 

“What exactly are you suggesting, Will?” 

“Hannibal, I want you to...” Will trailed off, eyes flickering around the room absently as he tried to find the words that he needed, tongue held tightly between his teeth as he thought. “I want my senses overloaded and my mind shut off. I want to drown in you until I can remember everything because I can’t bear forgetting this. Even if I can’t remember it, the sentiment will always be the same. Losing you terrifies me and even the idea of forgetting you is making my anxiety skyrocket.” 

“Will-”

“Make love to me, Hannibal.” 

Hannibal’s face twisted into one of disapproval and Will tried to push down the rejected and betrayed feeling that collapsed his lungs. He went over to the couch and dropped to his knees in front of Hannibal, taking the older man’s hands. 

“You love me. You didn’t lie about that?” Will pushed. 

“I love you,” Hannibal agreed, with a twitch a smile in the corner of his lips. “But-” He broke off, biting his bottom lip between his teeth and Will’s brows furrowed questioningly. “I wanted to wait.” He gave Will a small smile, resting his forehead to Will’s. “ _Mylimas berniukas_ ,” Hannibal sighed. “I don’t want you to forget what we do.” 

“Then make me remember,” Will said strongly. “Sear yourself into my skin so that I can’t forget.” 

This was different. So utterly different from any way this conversation had previously gone that Hannibal was trapped in shell-shock, unsure what exactly to do, not sure if he should give into Will’s wants or keep his own rules. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Will. He always wanted Will, had always wanted Will since their first conversation, since Will made eye contact after saying how distracting eye contact was. And that was what made Will his _magnum opus_. Clever, cunning Will who got far too close and now far too tangled. He was special and even in self preservation, Will would stay special to Hannibal. Now it was different, though. There was no self preservation, not anymore. Now all of his focus was on Will’s preservation. 

“You have no idea what falling in love with you feels like,” Hannibal whispered, closing his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose you.” 

“You won’t lose me. Not anymore. Not ever again.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“I promise, Hannibal,” Will assured softly. “And I never break my promises.” 

Hannibal stood slowly from the couch, pulling Will up by his hands. Hannibal’s eyes flickered over Will’s face taking in the beg in Will’s brilliant tempera blue eyes. With a small, surrendering nod, Hannibal pulled Will to the stairs and up to his room, guiding Will inside. 

Will turned around to face Hannibal and Hannibal’s strong hands took Will’s hips, guiding him to the bed. The back of Will’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell backwards, collapsing into the plush duvet. 

“Get comfortable, _mon cher_ ,” Hannibal instructed softly, fingers working on the buttons on his vest. 

Will adjusted himself until he was at the headboard, head on the downy pillow. He inhaled deeply of the scent Hannibal had left across them, trying to imprint it to memory. Anything to ground him to this very moment for eternity. At a dip in the bed, Will glanced up to see Hannibal in his dress shirt, French cuffs taken out in hopes of preserving the sleeves. 

He crawled over the top of Will, hands on either side of Will’s head, eyes intense in the dim room. Will raised one of his hands and caressed Hannibal’s face with the back of his fingers. Hannibal leaned into the fleeting touch. 

“What about your knee?” Will asked softly. 

“Shh,” Hannibal hushed, kissing Will deeply, causing Will’s head to spin. “This is all about you. Don’t think about anything but how this feels. Do you understand?” Will gave a small single nod. “I promise to be gentle with you. _Taigi švelnus_ _._ ” Will sighed as the words cradled against his lips, foreign in their taste. 

“Hannibal,” Will managed to get out through the fog that was beginning to set into his mind. A blush filled his cheeks and pulled him to be more present in the waiting silence. “I’ve never... done this.” Will could feel his heart speed up at the confession. “With a man.” 

“ _Tyla, mano mylimoji_ ,” Hannibal whispered, once again pressing a firm kiss to Will’s mouth. Will whimpered into the kiss, eyes rolling back, fingers searching across the fabric of the duvet, for what he wasn’t sure. Hannibal licked into Will’s mouth, greeted with a moan and the heat of Will’s own tongue. 

Will shivered against Hannibal’s kiss, letting himself fall into it, letting his senses try to take in every taste and every touch. Fingers reached out to Hannibal, finding the top most button on Hannibal’s shirt, beginning to work it open. 

The smell of books and wine was overwhelming, filling Will’s lungs with each breath he was able to steal between the kisses being pressed to his swollen lips. Hannibal’s longer silver locks tickled Will’s cheeks, brushing across a fresh scar. With Hannibal’s dress shirt tossed to the floor, left to wrinkle, fingers pressed into his chest, fabric separating Will from the touch he wanted, wanting nothing more for Hannibal to make him weightless, timeless, free of the rules of physics and mathematics for once in his life. 

And the monster obliged, as if he could read thoughts. Will’s own monster. A kinder monster than what Will had ever once experienced before. A strength hidden inside a human body, a strength unlike any Will had ever seen in his life. 

Hands that had snapped bones without a second thought, stripping his body clear of fabrics in worship. Fingers that had found pulses and either brought them back to life or smothered them completely, travelling over freshly exposed skin. Lips and tongue that had partaken in the delicacies of a palette that very few else had discovered, a diet of perverseness, kissing and tasting at his neck and shoulders. 

Gentle. That was the word the monster had used. Will would hold onto that word as if it were the only thing in the universe. Because it was gentle. Each skim of lips and trace of tongue, each brush of fingers and dip of hips were nothing but gently maddening, sending Will so far into himself that he thought he would never be found again, only to be pulled back by books and wine and a weightless timelessness, free of the rules of physics and mathematics. 

What a God forsaken mess Hannibal was making of him, lips sinking lower, pressing kisses to his chest, leaving behind blooming roses of a delicate blush. An idiotic moaning fool that could barely breathe. Ruins of a man already so ruined, Will wasn’t sure how Hannibal was making him anymore of a disarray. 

Fingers pulled at the remaining fabric at Will’s hips, lips swiftly heating the skin that was assaulted with cold air, leaving Will gasping and arched off the bed. Hands pressed Will back into the mattress, lips drunkenly trailing over a scar. 

Each of the two of them matched now, marked by each other until the day that they died, which would possibly be soon if Hannibal kept up his maddening caresses. Each touch across his scar was just as burning as the knife had been. The taste of blood was sharp against Will’s tongue before it was kissed away by Hannibal, a nightmare that could be revisited later in time, not now. Not when this moment was so excruciatingly, torturously perfect. 

“ _Tokia graži mano meilė_ _,”_ Hannibal rasped in Will’s ear, breathless. 

“Please,” Will moaned shamelessly, fingers pulling at Hannibal’s undershirt. 

“ _Pasakyk man, ko tau reikia_ ,” Hannibal instructed with a nip at Will’s ear. 

“Too many clothes,” Will answered, only able to guess at what Hannibal had said. 

A coldness consumed Will’s skin in a shiver as Hannibal’s weight left him and he watched through frosted glass eyes as Hannibal removed his shirt and then began working on his belt. Will’s breath hitched as the leather was pulled free and left to fall to the floor just like the rest of their clothes. Pressed slacks were quick to follow, though Hannibal made no movement to remove his boxers. 

He leaned himself back down over Will and Will was about to complain about Hannibal not finishing when a hot tongue licked a stripe up his length. Will’s fists clenched around the duvet and his back arched, eyes closing with a groan he didn’t give permission to escape. 

Will’s chest heaved and he licked at dry lips, waiting for whatever was coming next. The sound of a bedside table drawer being opened and closed covered up Will’s harsh breath, until there was a dark and smothering kiss placed to Will’s parted lips, clawing the air from his lungs. 

“Spread your legs for me, _mielasis_.” 

Will did as prompted, a jolt of vulnerability lighting up his veins as Hannibal’s hands guided him further open, blush painting over his cheeks and chest like brush strokes across a canvas. 

The monster’s claws trailed lines up the insides of thighs and sent shivers to Will’s core. The memories of kisses now traced in his pale skin in the back of his knees and thighs. There was a satisfied air that came with Will’s whimper of not being touched where he needed to be. 

“Please,” Will begged. 

Hannibal didn’t need to be told twice. Not today. Not in this moment. If there were more times in the future, he would make Will beg and plead for each and every touch, but not today. Today was Will’s and it would stay Will’s. Anything Will asked for or wanted. Anything. 

Hannibal opened the small bottle of slick and put some on his fingers, warming the liquid between his fingers before reaching out to Will and carefully touching at the man before, leaning down to once more lick at Will to help ease the unfamiliar feeling his fingers would be creating. 

Gentle. Hannibal was going to kill him with gentle, smother him until it was all he knew. And wasn’t that exactly what he had wanted? Exactly what he had asked for? Pleasure? Gentle pleasure to drown him out completely, to ease his racing mind, to wipe away everything that he had done until he was nothing, until he remembered everything?

A finger pushed in and Will hissed. Hannibal was swift to anchor him to the bed with heavy kisses, his other hand stroking his length to pull his mind to something more pleasant than the slight burn. 

“Don’t think about what’s outside of this room,” Hannibal whispered against Will’s lips, carefully stretching and working Will with his other hand. “Don’t think about tomorrow.” Will gasped, fingers snatching at Hannibal’s hair to pull him back in for another kiss. “Or a week from now.” Moans, breath from Will’s lungs clinging to the heat of the room. “Just be here with me now, _Mano mylimasis_.” A second finger met the first and Hannibal kissed a sigh from Will’s lips, enjoying the way Will’s fingers tugged at his hair. “Think about me.” 

_That’s all I can think about, Hannibal_ _._

“Think about how much I love you.” 

_I love you, Hannibal._

Smothering lips, blocking away any answer, impeding any thought. The shakiness in his limbs, the fuzziness in his head, his heart beating heavily against his rib cage, drunken with delusion. 

Will found himself paralyzed by Hannibal’s words, every limb drugged by the chemicals washing through him, natural rather than manufactured. A burst of stars and lightning as fingers touched something in him that he had never felt before. 

“Hannibal,” Will whimpered, fingers tightening in Hannibal’s hair. It was too much. It was too warm, too perfect, too pure. And Will wanted to remember every second of it. He wanted to store every bit of this to memory. Every breath, every moan, every touch. 

“Good, _mielasis_?” 

Will forced his eyes open to meet Hannibal’s and a shiver raced through him. God, he wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember the contrast of Hannibal’s silver hair against his red hot face. Will pushed himself to memorize the blush that spread across Hannibal’s bare chest, the beating of his own heart, the soft energy behind those amber eyes. He would do anything, destroy anything and everything, just to keep those eyes on him.

“Good,” Will said when he finally found the strength to. “More.” 

Hannibal placed a soft kiss to Will’s lips before moving back down his body, leaving Will cold and wanting more contract. The heat wasn’t lost for long, returning to Will in a blaze at a wicked tongue and impossible lips. 

Will wasn’t sure how long he could hold on with fingers exploring parts of him he didn’t know existed and Hannibal’s hot mouth on him. Will’s hips jumped as that place was touched once more inside of him and he could feel strong fingers grappling his hips down so he couldn’t move. Trapped in place, forced to feel every minute movement, every last nerve ending on fire with what Hannibal was doing to him. 

Heat pooled low in Will’s stomach, under Hannibal’s palm and he found his hands trembling where they were still tangled in Hannibal’s hair. _Not like this,_ he thought, though the words evaded him. _Please, not like this Hannibal._

Ever attentive animal, Will’s monster. So careful of Will’s wants and needs. So observant and willing to please, Will’s monster. Pulling away before it was too much, kissing away Will’s whines at the emptiness that was now there. Giving and giving and giving, Will’s monster. Wine and books and blood and death, Will’s monster. Darkness blurring with the light, Will’s loving, perfect monster. 

“ _Atsipalaiduok, mano meile_ _,”_ Hannibal’s accent pushed into the fog of Will’s mind. Searing lips at his forehead. “Can you do that for me, _Mano brangiausias_? Relax and let me take care of you.” 

“Hannibal.” 

That was all Will could say, the only thing that would tumble from his lips. The only logical thought that he had, swirling endlessly through each of his senses. Everything he had asked for. Everything that he had wanted. To taste, hear, smell, see and touch Hannibal and be immersed so deeply in everything that was Hannibal that he would never forget. He refused to forget. Even if this was all he had at the end of the universe, Will would remember. Will would always remember this. 

Will watched as Hannibal stood from the bed, finally removing the last bit of fabric that had been between them for far too long. Will licked at his dry lips as Hannibal added slick to his own length and Will quickly closed his eyes, embarrassment flooding over him. 

“Are you still wanting this Will?” 

The words were soft and kind in the mist that cradled Will. Will could only think to nod, knowing that the only word he would be able to say would be to call his monster’s name. 

There was a dip in the bed as Hannibal returned to Will’s parting Will’s legs once more to move between them. “ _Pažadu būti švelnus, brangus._ ” Will shuddered at the words and he could feel the pride in the smile his monster gave. 

Hannibal’s weight pressed into the bed, chest to chest, kissing at Will’s jawline. Will’s neck extended, giving Hannibal more room to work. Lips pressed to a racing pulse and kissed at it, worshiping the life force it gave, not threatening to take it away for a moment. Hannibal’s heat was between Will’s legs and he struggled to keep his mind focused on Hannibal and not letting himself dissolve into the warmth and the weight of who was above him. 

“Hannibal,” Will breathed, fingers once more in those silver locks, anything to ground himself, stable himself, keep him in this very moment so he could catalogue every feeling. 

“Anything is yours, Will,” Hannibal said against Will’s rushing blood. “You only have to ask.” 

Will circled his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, shaking his head, unsure if you could find the words, unsure if he would ever be able to say anything other than that one name ever again. 

“Ask, _mylimas_ ,” Hannibal instructed. “I need to know what you want.” 

Will pushed through the fog, through the heat in his veins, to the top of his mind. “Show me love, Hannibal,” Will gasped out. 

With a last kiss to Will’s neck, Hannibal sat up a little more, eyes searching pleading blue. “ _Švelnus_. _Taigi švelnus.”_

Gentle. The push, the stretch, the burn. Gentle. The extinguishing kiss. Gentle. This monster. 

Will whimpered as his nails dug into Hannibal’s back, finger tips catching at brands and burns. Hannibal’s sigh filled the kiss and Will swiftly put that sound away, chaining it to the foyer is the Norman Chapel in Palermo next to Hannibal’s heart, severe and beautiful and timeless.

Will’s legs naturally wrapped around Hannibal’s waist, pulling him closer, wanting everything this man had to give him. Even if it hurt, Will wanted it. Every moment of pain was theirs to explore and there was not going to be a time without pain between them and Will didn’t want there to be. The pain was theirs and it should stay that way. 

The pace that Hannibal set was slow and deep, so damn gentle. It only made Will’s fingers dig deeper into Hannibal’s back as he forced himself to stay present. The way that Hannibal worshiped him with a reverence that would make God jealous was suffocating. 

Will didn’t deserve it. He had never deserved this before, but his soul was a light and more alive than it had ever been and he didn’t want to lose it. Anything to feel something more than just himself. 

A hand reached down between them and Will's breath was trapped in his lungs as Hannibal stroked his length in time to those agonizingly slow thrusts, delirium overtaking Will. Dizziness put Will on the edge of life and death, teetering and waiting for Hannibal to save or destroy him. 

“Please, Hannibal.” Will’s sanity was slipping, everything blurring together. Nothing was separate anymore. Touch collided with scent, dangerous fingers drunk on expensive wine. Bleeding hearts and pulsing lips. A coiling in his stomach and a rushing in his ears. “I can’t-I can’t...” 

Will moaned at a slightly harder snap of hips, the pace faster, but not brutal. Gentle, as gentle as Hannibal had been the whole time. Adoration, praise, devotion. It was blinding, stealing away Will’s breath. 

“Let go, Will,” Hannibal instructed in his ear before sealing Will’s lips into a kiss. 

Nails scratched red marks deeply into Hannibal’s back. Will felt the coil snap, making him gasp into Hannibal’s mouth. Careful fingers and thrusts pulled Will through his release until Hannibal followed after him. 

The kisses that followed were desperate and starved from Hannibal, sending Will’s mind spinning, as if Hannibal were trying to overload his senses more than he already had. “Don’t forget this Will,” Hannibal whispered, pulling away. His fingers pushed Will’s damp curls from his face. “I couldn’t bear it.” 

* * *

“The landlord said that two men were living here,” Zeller explained, reading over the statement he had written down in his notepad. Jack stepped around the empty apartment that had been cleaned top to bottom so that there was nothing left for them to find. “She said that one of them was older, greying and charming with an accent. Paid for rent in full, in cash, and had already paid rent for the next three months in advance. She said that the other was sickly, hardly ever left the apartment but was always accompanied by the charming man whenever he did leave. The man never spoke and she thought he was possibly high, he was always out of it.” 

“There’s no DNA, no money or electronic trail, nothing to connect them to this apartment,” Price continued with a deep sigh. “Just like normal. You can’t prove it was them Jack.” 

“Like hell I can’t. That bedroom looks like Italy threw up on it,” Jack defended. “Only Hannibal Lecter would splurge on such a thing.” 

“The renovation was not approved by the landlord,” Zeller said, closing up his notepad and putting it into his jacket pocket. “She said that she didn’t even know that it had taken place.” 

“Is there anything else useful in this place?” Jack grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. As much as he wanted to believe he was on the right path, both Price and Zeller were correct. There was no definitive proof that Will and Dr. Lecter had been here, just circumstantial evidence. Nothing concrete. 

His hand dropped and Jack stopped, lowering himself to his knees in the kitchen. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and reached under the cabinet, picking up a shard of glass from an expensive looking china plate. A dark brown was along one edge. 

“There’s blood on this,” Jack announced, holding out the piece of glass. Price hurried forward, pulling an evidence bag from his pocket and opening it up. Jack dropped it into the bag and smirked. “Let’s get this back to the lab and get it tested. You boys can go home, spend time with your families.” 

“Jack,” Price cut in with a frown. “We want to find him just as much as you do.” 

“We’re not leaving,” Zeller agreed. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jack said in a dismissive tone that made both of the men fall silent with nods, leaving Jack to be alone in the apartment. Jack sighed and stepped over to the large open window, watching snow as it drifted lazily onto the city. “I will find you,” Jack muttered to himself. “You will slip up. You can’t hide forever. How did you get out of here without being seen? Without being traced?” 

Jack quickly turned and left the apartment, locking the door behind him so it wouldn’t be disturbed and raced down the stairs to the front desk where the landlord was. A woman in her late 60’s, blond hair going grey at the roots. 

“Do you have any security footage of the front of the apartment?” Jack questioned, making the woman jump from the paperwork she was going through. She gave a small nod in answer. “I need to see the day that they left here.” 

The woman lowered her paperwork and went over to her computer, messing around for a moment longer than Jack liked, though he tried to keep his mouth shut, both his own wife and Beverly telling him he was too impatient. 

The woman turned her computer screen around and Jack grumbled at the quality of the footage. But sure enough, there were two men, one older and grey, one younger with dark hair, entering a cab that pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the flow of traffic. 

“There must be a million different cab companies here,” Jack hissed, a hand rubbing at his eyes. They had been here, the camera had proved that, or had at least shown two men that looked extremely similar. 

“That was Carlos,” the man explained. “He always brings me a coffee if he makes a stop here.” 

“I need his number, woman!” Jack ordered sharply, making the woman jump once more before moving into action. She pulled her phone from her pocket and her finger swiped over the screen several times before she grabbed a sticky note and scribbled over it, handing it out to Jack. “Thank you.” Jack snatched the number from her and looked over it before giving her a smile. “Merry Christmas.” 

Jack left the apartment building and looked out at the late afternoon sun with a sigh, turning up his collar against the wind and hunching his shoulders against the cold. He could wait a day. It was Christmas after all, and Will was still alive. Hannibal wouldn’t kill him. Not at the moment. Not when it was a game now for who had Will in their corner. Will was too precious for Hannibal to lose. It could wait until tomorrow. 

For now, he wanted a beer or maybe a dozen of them to forget his first Christmas without his wife there and then a hot shower to chase away the chill in his bones. 

* * *

Will’s eyes opened with a deep inhale, a soreness in his limbs that he didn’t want to lose, the scent of Hannibal all around him, underlaid with something new. Something buttery and spicy. 

Will pushed himself from Hannibal’s bed and stretched out his aching muscles before finding his discarded clothes, pulling them back on. He left the room and went to the railing along the catwalk to find Hannibal sat contently on the couch, legs folded under him, sketching, a half-drunk glass of wine beside him on the side table. 

The scent was stronger now, something sweet that Will couldn’t exactly place, something baking. The spice in it was strong, fresh as well as something bitter and earthy. 

Will went for the stairs and at his footsteps, Hannibal glanced up from his art, a small smile on his lips. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes,” Will answered, hitting the landing. “What are you making?” 

“Gingerbread,” Hannibal answered, turning back to his work. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.” 

“It smells delicious,” Will replied with a small nod, coming to the couch and looking over Hannibal’s shoulder at his work. Will stated, heart picking up its pace at the form that was being sketched. His own naked body, asleep in Hannibal’s bed, sheets covering him, but leaving very little to the imagination. “I don’t recall posing for you.” 

“No need.” Hannibal stopped his shading of Will’s careful curls and looked up at Will. “I had my fill when you fell asleep.” 

“You watched me sleep?” 

Hannibal gave a small nod and Will felt a blush come to his cheeks. “ _Per daug gražu_.” Hannibal placed his drawing aside and rose to his feet, straightening his suit coat. Before Will could ask, Hannibal supplied the answer. “Far too beautiful for your own good, Will.” He placed a kiss on Will's head and then went for the kitchen to check on the cookies. 

Will followed and leaned against the opposite side of the island as Hannibal pulled the tray of cookies from the oven and set them on some hot pads. Hannibal shook out the hand towel and tossed it over his shoulder before closing the oven door. 

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” Will questioned, finger tracing the dark line in the marble. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Hannibal asked, hands on the counter, facing Will head on, face kind. Will shook his head, eyes dropping back to the marking in the marble. “Very well.” Hannibal moved to a cabinet and fetched out a plate, adding a dark circular cookie to the plate, pushing it towards Will. “They’re hot. Be careful.” 

Will looked over the cookie for a moment before reaching out and breaking a piece off of it and putting it to his mouth, the taste and scent of ginger strong and pleasantly overwhelming, a hint of molasses underneath it. His eyes closed as he tried to imprint this to his memory as well, everything that he could find to store away, ball and chain to himself for the future. 

“You’re wonderfully domestic, Hannibal,” Will said as he opened his eyes to find Hannibal waiting for his opinion. Hannibal’s chin tilted up in question. “I could get used to this, I think.” 

“To this?” Hannibal pushed for clarification, heading around to where Will was breaking off another piece of the cookie and eating it with a nod. 

“To being here with you,” Will explained with a shrug. “In this house. Something quiet and simple. No more nightmares or bodies. Just us and your cooking and your drawing and your playing the piano and your reading those stupid books that I will never be able to understand. I could get used to this.” Hannibal tipped his head to the side, still listening. “Stop fishing for compliments,” Will said with a smile, pushing at Hannibal’s chest. “You know you’re too good to be true, I don’t have to tell you everyday, arrogant bastard.” 

Will reached out for another piece of his cookie and the moment he placed it into his mouth, Hannibal kissed him, the taste of wine mixing with the ginger in a pleasant way as if Hannibal had picked the wine on purpose just to compliment the cookies. He probably had. 

“Have you lost your reflex to resist?” Hannibal teased when he pulled away from Will to move the cookies to a cooling rack. 

“Have I ever had that reflex around you?” 

“In the beginning, I suspect.” 

“There was never hope for me, was there?” Will laughed, letting the feeling of home wash over him. Here and now, he was home. Here and now, he was happy. Here and now he was safe and it was all he had ever wanted, everything he had ever needed. But then Hannibal knew that. He knew everything. Exactly what to say and do in every situation that arose. 

“I suppose not,” Hannibal answered, now taking the cookie sheet to the sink to wash it. 

“I can do that,” Will offered, stepping around the counter and nudging Hannibal out of the way of the sink. Will rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a rag, wetting it in the sink and pumping soap onto it as Hannibal’s hands snaked around his hips and his chin rested on Will’s shoulder to watch the empath work. 

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked softly. 

“Fine. Why?” Will scrubbed at the cookie sheet, making sure all of the crumbs were gone. 

“I just want to make sure.” Hannibal placed a kiss to Will’s temple and he watched as a smile pulled at Will’s scar. 

“You’re not going to lose me. I promised, didn’t I?” Hannibal nodded in answer to Will’s question. “Then you won’t lose me.” Will washed the soap from the sheet and reached back, pulling the hand towel from Hannibal’s shoulder with a smirk, using it to dry the pan. “You worry too much.” 

“Not enough,” Hannibal argued, releasing Will with a deep breath. “I get too content when I have several days with you. Too hopeful.” 

Will frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful.” 

“There is when it’s been ripped away too many times.” 

“This is all you’ve ever wanted for us, isn’t it?” Will asked, turning around to face Hannibal, the emotions on his face far more pronounced than they usually were. Something deep and pained across his skin. “To be together, always. To be there for one another no matter what happens. Good, bad, blood and sugar?” 

“Most of it,” Hannibal agreed, fingers flexing at his sides, antsy. 

“I’m not going to kill with you,” Will clarified, putting the cookie sheet away. “But if you need to, you can leave. Just don’t tell me where you go or what you do.” 

“Need to?” Hannibal echoed curiously. “Need to, no. Want to, yes.” 

“Do you miss the taste of flesh that badly?” 

Will jumped as hands took his hips and there was a nip at his neck. “Not when I have yours.” Hannibal released him and made his way back to the living room, sitting back down on the couch and taking a sip of his wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cher- dear
> 
> brangus berniuk-dear boy
> 
> Mylimas berniukas-precious 
> 
> mon cher- my dear
> 
> Taigi švelnus- So gentle
> 
> Tyla, mano mylimoji-Silence, my beloved. 
> 
> Tokia graži mano meilė- My love is so beautiful
> 
> Pasakyk man, ko tau reikia- Tell me what you need
> 
> mielasis-darling
> 
> Mano mylimasis- my precious
> 
> Atsipalaiduok, mano meile-Relax, my love
> 
> Mano brangiausias- my dearest
> 
> Pažadu būti švelnus, brangus- I promise to be gentle, dear
> 
> Švelnus. Taigi švelnus- Gentle. So gentle. 
> 
> Per daug gražu- Too beautiful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel fine. Why are you asking?” 
> 
> “Would you draw me a clock if I asked you to?” 
> 
> Will frowned. “To humor you?” 
> 
> “To humor me,” Hannibal agreed with a nod. 

* * *

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Carlos grumbled, rubbing at his face tiredly. "I need to get back to work." 

"Not until you tell me the truth," Jack repeated, hand slamming into the desk. "We have footage of your car picking up those two men." He jabbed his finger at the pictures of Will and Dr. Lecter that were on the table. "We have an eye witness that says it was you. These men are wanted for multiple counts of murder. Where did you drop them off?" 

There was a deep sigh from Carlos who closed his eyes for a moment and Jack waited for the silence to become too much and for Carlos to fill it. 

"Ok," Carlos said softly, sitting forward in his chair. "He paid me a shit ton of money not to tell anyone where they went." 

"Where did they go?" 

"Some cabin up in the woods. A good three or four hours away."

Jack nodded. "The address?" 

"I-I don't know it anymore. My system deletes the locations after 24 hours," Carlos answered quickly. "All I know is that it was north." 

Jack gave a nod and rose from the table, leaving the interrogation room, slamming the door behind himself as he went. At least he had a direction and his team, though smaller now, was waiting and ready in the hallway for him.

"Zeller-"

"I will start searching for cabins in the north, three or four hours out of the city," Zeller interrupted. "I will get you that report out shortly." 

Jack nodded and turned to Price who also immediately knew what his job was. "I will make sure we have a copy of this tape, get an update on the blood analysis and then will join Zeller." 

"Thank you," Jack said with yet another nod, dismissing both men and missing Beverly's snarky remarks. 

* * *

Hannibal watched from the window, sipping on a cup of tea as Will worked on cutting up a log for more firewood. 

Hannibal could see the discomfort in Will's shoulder as Will rubbed at it after a particularly hard split with the axe. 

_Silly boy,_ Hannibal thought. _You haven't been doing your exercises._

Hannibal took another sip of tea and placed it aside, sliding his hands into his slack pockets as he watched Will work, keeping his promise of not helping so his knee could heal. 

But Hannibal didn't care about his knee. All he cared about was another day with Will. One with Will fully intact, mentally safe and sound. 

Maybe Will had been right. Maybe this was the time. Maybe Will would finally be here to stay. Maybe Hannibal owed him an apology. 

With a decided nod, Hannibal went to the back door and stepped out onto the deck. "Will," he called across the snow. Will stopped, breath clinging to the cold air, axe now in the snow by his feet. "I'm going to go into town. It's just down the road." 

Will gave a confused look, using his teeth to pull at his gloves, making Hannibal's chest stir with a feeling he couldn't quite place. 

"Do you want me to come with you?" Will asked, making his way to the deck. 

"I'll only be an hour or two. It's not far," Hannibal assured. "I need to stretch out my knee anyway." Hannibal smirked then. "Make sure you're doing your exercises for me. Your shoulder is just as important as my leg." 

Will gave a small nod and glanced back at his work for a moment, gloves held tightly in pink bare hands. "Alright. I'll see if I can have something made for lunch for when you get back." 

Hannibal gave a small huff of laughter and a nod before going back inside to grab his coat. 

The walk to town wasn't bad. Most of the snow on the road had been pushed aside and Hannibal could walk easily. 

His knee had been aching terribly since yesterday, having spent far too long on it, honoring his angel, polishing his halo. 

But moderated use would be good for him. The only way to strengthen the muscles back up would be to work them. 

Hannibal reached the first few buildings on the main Street and he looked at each of them carefully until he found the building he was looking for. 

He opened the shop door and found a young teen girl at the front desk, filling out some paperwork. 

She glanced up and put a smile on her face. "Morning," she said cheerfully, blonde hair bouncing. 

"Morning," Hannibal greeted with a nod, pulling his gloves from his hands and shoving them in his pocket. 

"What can I do for you?" 

* * *

The cookbook was covered in flour, as were the counters, the floor and Will. The stand mixer whirred to a stop as Will snatched at the cord. With a sigh, he brushed himself off, then went to get the broom and dustpan. He pushed the mess from the counter onto the floor and then began to sweep up the mess he had made, chuckling. 

Hannibal would have given him such a disappointed look, Will could see it now. One with a raised eyebrow before Hannibal’s OCD kicked in and he began to help Will clean so that everything was particularly sterile. Probably a habit from his days in surgery. Will dumped the flour into the trash and put the broom away, before looking over what was supposed to be lunch. 

The front door opened and Will moved from the kitchen, expecting to see Hannibal finally return and instead found a black and white Border Collie trot through the door, pink tongue out and collar jingling. 

Will gave a confused look, but lowered himself to the floor, a single hand reaching out. He clicked his tongue, calling the dog’s attention to him and the Border Collie slowly moved closer, smelling at Will’s outstretched hand. 

“It’s alright,” he said softly, the dog’s cold nose pressing into his fingers. “There we go.” He scratched at the dog’s head, not noticing the front door closing and a man pulling his coat from his shoulders to add it to the coat rack. Will’s fingers took the collar and twisted the tag until he could read it. “Izzy, huh?” 

“The shelter thinks she’s about a year old,” Hannibal announced, the lash going onto the coat rack as well and several bags of shopping being placed on the dining table.

Will looked up with a confused smile. “The shelter?” Izzy nipped at his hand and Will returned his focus to the dog, scratching her behind the ears. His smile dropped as realization came to him. He stood up and stepped a bit closer to Hannibal, who stood patiently with his hands crossed in front of him. “Is she for me?” Hannibal gave a single nod as Izzy weaved her way through Will’s legs, knocking him a bit off balance. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I am well aware that I didn’t have to, silly boy.” Hannibal stepped closer with a half smile. Izzy’s nose pushed into the back of Will’s knee and Will gave a stern _Ssk_ through his teeth, though Izzy didn’t listen. Not like his dogs back home. “She will have to be trained of course. She does know some basic commands, though.” 

Will glanced down at Izzy who was happily pushing herself back into Will’s legs, nose trying to nuzzle at Will’s hand for more scratches. “Sit,” he commanded, voice firm. Izzy tipped her head to the side, but did as told, tail wagging. His attention returned to Hannibal who had stepped even closer. “Why?” 

“Why what, dear boy?” 

“Why for me?” 

“I thought she would make you happy. She does, doesn't she?” 

“Yes,” Will answered softly.

Hannibal reached out a hand to Will’s face and gave a small chuckle as he wiped a white powder from Will’s cheek. “What kind of messes did you make while I was gone?” Hannibal pulled playfully at one of Will’s curls and more of the powder puffed out. 

Will rolled his eyes, hands going to shake out his hair, dust filling the air. “I was trying to make pasta but failed to realize that you can’t just put flour into the mixer.” 

Hannibal gave a bright laugh at the words, the same laugh that Will had heard the first day they had arrived at this cabin. “It’s best to start at a low speed until the ingredients are all incorporated.” 

“Yeah, I know that now.” Will snorted. “I should leave the cooking to you.” 

“Nonsense,” Hannibal insisted, pulling off his suit coat and placing it on a chair before unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. “We just need to train you is all.” 

“I’m not a dog,” Will pointed out, a smile still on his face. 

“Pasta is fairly easy. Let me teach you.” Hannibal offered, looking over the items that were on the counter and the mess that was in the stand mixer, each in a light dusting of flour. 

“Stay,” Will ordered, pointing at Izzy before moving back into the kitchen with Hannibal. Will glanced back at movement to find Izzy following after him. “Ssk,” he said, calling the dog’s attention to him. He pointed back to where Izzy had previously been. “Stay.” Izzy backed up a few steps and Will smiled. “Sit.” 

* * *

“The blood on the china is a match for Will Graham,” Price announced as the computer program beeped happily at a job well done. “It was his, one hundred percent.” 

“We’re on the right track,” Jack said with a breath of relief. “I can’t sleep until we get them back.” 

“Jack, I’ve been searching for days,” Zeller grumbled, scrolling through lists of properties and cabins. “There are hundreds of cabins north of New York City in a four hour radius. I have no idea what we’re looking for.” He rubbed at his tired eyes. “I’ve been searching for anything recently sold, but I’m not sure how else to narrow it down.” 

Jack stepped over to the computer screen to look over the real estate website that Zeller had up. “What do we know about both of them?” Jack asked, prompting his team to think a bit harder. “It's our job to profile, so profile them.” 

“Will is secluded,” Zeller said with a shrug. “Doesn’t like to be around people.” 

“He enjoys the outdoors,” Price threw out, leaving his own computer and moving to be over by Jack and Zeller. “He likes to fish.” 

“It’s the middle of winter,” Zeller pointed out harshly. 

“Excuse me,” Price grumbled. 

“Enough,” Jack ordered. “He’s taken me ice fishing before.” 

“Ok, so something near a river or a lake.” Zeller began typing into his computer again, pulling up more websites to scroll through. 

“And what about Dr. Lecter?” Jack pushed. 

“He would want to be comfortable,” Price answered with a shrug. “His prison cell was nicer than my apartment.” 

Zeller laughed. “A dumpster is better than your apartment.” 

“I said enough!” Jack hissed through his teeth before Price had a chance to snap back. “Dr. Lecter would want to be comfortable. He wouldn’t live in something small or unfurnished. He likes to spend money and be around people.” 

“So a secluded cabin with enough land to have a body of water and be near a town for easy access to necessities.” Zeller began typing again, tipping his head to the side. “Something high end, with a nice kitchen.” 

“A basement,” Price threw out with a shrug. “You remember what we found in the last one.” He shuddered at the thought. 

“Something off the market. It wouldn’t be listed on any websites, not even as recently sold.” Zeller stopped at Jack’s words and glanced over his shoulder with a confused look. “He would have had it already purchased, already making payments, already have a life established there even if it were empty. He did the same thing in the apartment building. He had rent paid in advance. Somewhere to jump to if they were spooked.” 

“That’s going to make them more difficult to find,” Price pointed out and Zeller shot him a dark look. 

“Then you should be helping too,” Jack said, causing Zeller to smirk. 

* * *

Hannibal wasn’t sure where the jealousy had come from. That was a lie he kept telling himself. He knew exactly where the jealousy came from. The fact that Will’s attention was no longer completely and utterly on him. 

Hannibal knew it was illogical to be upset over a dog. Especially when he had gotten the thing for Will so Will would have something to do other than be bored around the house, because Will was bored. He would never admit it to Hannibal, but Hannibal knew. There was only so long that he could read Dante or show Will how to cook or play the piano for him. 

But that smile on that boy’s lips. He would put up with a dog if it got Will to smile like that forever. It was radiant, the sun while they were trapped inside while it snowed. It was distracting and Hannibal found it hard to focus on anything else but that smile. 

Will collapsed on the couch with a huff of laughter, shaking the book that was in Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal glanced over with a frown as Izzy jumped up onto the couch. “Hey,” Will said firmly, pointing at the floor. “Down.” With a small whine, Izzy hopped off the couch and Will gave Hannibal an apologetic look. “Sorry. She’s learning.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Hannibal said, turning the page of his book and continuing in the story, though he wasn’t paying it much attention. 

“You’ve become much more expressive since we’ve come here.” Will shifted so that he was facing Hannibal now. Hannibal closed his book and looked over with an intrigued look. “Like that,” Will teased with a smile, causing Hannibal’s face to go blank nearly instantly. Will laughed lightly. “I can read you easily now, Dr. Lecter. You might want to be careful.” 

“Then read me, Will,” Hannibal instructed, the book now placed aside and full attention on Will. 

“I know you’re jealous,” Will stated strongly. He watched Hannibal’s face carefully and smirked at the way Hannibal kept himself emotionless now that he knew Will was watching. “I can tell. The way you ignore Izzy. The way that you brush off going on walks. The way you go to bed early barely saying good night unless I prompt you to.” 

Hannibal’s fingers tapped on his knee for a moment as he considered the words. Will was right of course, but Hannibal stayed silent. Will took his hands and Hannibal released a breath that had been trapped in his chest for days. 

“I’m still yours, Hannibal,” Will assured him. “You are so human sometimes, God.” Will moved closer and placed a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. “Why do you constantly have to be reassured?” 

“I’ve never had something like you before,” Hannibal answered quietly. “And I’m scared.” 

“Scared?” Will scoffed. “Scared doesn't become you, Hannibal. Stop trying to distance yourself from me.” Hannibal’s eyes avoided Will’s gaze and Will gave a small nod in understanding. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Hannibal pulled his hands free of Will’s hand, one of them covered his mouth, hiding his expression from Will. “You’re trying to pull away so that if I forget again you don’t hurt.”

“I do not want to discuss this,” Hannibal muttered, getting to his feet and going for the selections of wine over in the wine rack. Will watched from the couch for a moment before getting to his feet and following Hannibal to where he was pulling out bottles and putting them back, unable to decide on which one he wanted, instructing Izzy to stay in her bed.

“We are discussing this,” Will said firmly. “Hannibal, this is-”

“Will, I appreciate the concern, but-”

“This is not something that we are going to push under the rug. Not this time,” Will said, voice strong and louder than Hannibal’s, cutting the doctor off. “I always play by your rules and your games, but not this time. We are going to work through this together.” 

Hannibal snorted. “ _Lengva pasakyti, bet ne padaryti_.”

“No,” Will shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “You are not hiding behind that this time. You are not going to talk at me. You’re going to talk with me.” 

“You sound like a psychiatrist, Dr. Graham.” 

Will frowned, eyes sharp on Hannibal as the man turned to face the empath. “No, I’m not. I am trying to be a good partner and the whole way we are going to make this work is if we talk. You can’t hide things from me anymore Hannibal. I can let you keep your secrets and let you have time to yourself, but if it concerns me, then you have to let me in.” 

Hannibal’s face was turned down in a frown and he shook his head. “ _Jūs žiūrite per rožinius akinius.”_

“Hannibal!” Will’s voice was stern, loud, making Hannibal still. He had never heard Will raise his voice in that way before. Calm, gentle Will making way for whatever creature was there now. Will sighed, a hand scratching at his stubble. “I’m still here. With you.” His voice was gentler now, but just as serious. “I haven’t forgotten you and I am not going to.” 

“That doesn’t change the past.” 

“Then tell me!” Will’s hands were thrown down to his sides in exasperation. “The only way you are going to work through this is if we talk about it. If you need to think of me as a psychiatrist so that we can work this out, then I will be your psychiatrist, but we are going to work on this. This is not something that I am going to drop and forget. You can’t do this alone Hannibal. Not anymore. And I won’t let you.” 

Hannibal gave a deep exhale and shaky fingers pushed silver from his eyes. He shook his head and Will watched as the man crumbled. Hannibal. Strong and dangerous Hannibal, sinking to the floor. Killer and fugitive Hannibal using the back of his hand to stifle his tears. A man who had taken more lives than Will probably knew of, reduced to crying on the floor next to a wine rack. 

Will blinked several times, unsure exactly what to make of the scene. Did he help? Did he leave the man alone? Did he speak? Did he stay silent? Was he too harsh and demanding? 

No. Hannibal felt safe here. Hannibal would never have broken down in front of anyone else. Will doubted that Hannibal even wanted to snap in front of Will, but here he was. No one could stay strong forever. Not even transcendent Hannibal. 

Will sighed and lowered himself to the floor, leaning up against the wall, arms on his knees, close enough to feel Hannibal’s warmth next to him, but not close enough to disturb Hannibal if the man didn’t want anything to do with Will at the moment. 

Will rested his head against the wall and waited in the silence that was broken up by small noises from Hannibal. After a moment or two more, Will couldn’t take it, pain swirling in his chest. 

“Hannibal, I’m sorry,” he got out. “I wasn’t trying to push you. I didn’t understand how badly all of this hurt you. But I would like to understand if you will let me in. I don’t want you to be alone in this.” 

“I don’t think I could go through a relapse again,” Hannibal said, voice steady despite the tears that had made his eyes go red. “And I am too afraid to let myself enjoy this incase it comes crashing down.” 

“It won’t.” 

“Who are you trying to convince?’ Hannibal asked softly, wiping at his cheeks, his fit finished. Will didn’t need to see that part of him. No one needed to see that part of him. He just needed to make sure he kept better control over himself, which seemed to be proving rather difficult the longer he spent time with Will. 

_Do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?_

_I already did._

The old conversation played through Hannibal’s head on repeat as it had for the last several days. Will had changed him so deeply he sometimes had trouble remembering who he was before Will. Everything was Will and it was probably the most unhealthy relationship he had ever been in, but Hannibal didn’t want anything else. Codependency was one of the first among a multitude of issues between the two of them, but Hannibal didn’t care and was more than certain that Will felt the same. 

_I already did._

“I’m sorry to be so bothersome,” Hannibal muttered after a moment of silence that Will was not filling. 

Will gave a small smile. “Never apologize for coming to me.” 

Hannibal gave a nod, remembering a somehow simpler time where they drank coffee in his kitchen on an early morning. A pleasant interruption to his day. Will was such a pleasant interruption. 

“Hannibal, we will get through this,” Will assured, glancing over at Hannibal who looked so out of place sitting on the floor. “I don’t want you to think you’re saving us by pushing me away. I’m here, through the blood and the sugar.” 

“The blood and the sugar,” Hannibal repeated softly. “I’ll be more present.” 

“Give me your everything.” 

“Always.” 

* * *

Will woke to an empty bed, the space beside him that was normally filled by Hannibal was cold. Will blinked around the stillness and inhaled deeply at the smell of something cooking. There was always something cooking. There was always something that smelled wonderfully perfect and Will gave a faint smile through the sleepiness. 

He could get used to this. Lord, he could get used to this. 

Will got from the bed and stretched his arms over his head before heading to the bathroom to start a shower. He turned it up as hot as he could stand it and undressed as the steam fogged up the mirrors. 

The water was hot as it cascaded down his back and straightened his curls into his face. Will glanced down at his hands that were pruned before he was aware of how long he had just been standing there. The small nick on his finger from the plate that Hannibal had dropped was nearly healed and he had made sure that Hannibal hadn’t made a big deal about it by not telling him. 

Will sighed and reached for the shampoo, washing out his hair before finding the soap that Hannibal used. Will quickly rubbed the bar between his hands until there were suds and scrubbed himself down, fingers going for his neck. 

There was a caustic and burning pain in Will’s head and he groaned, eyes snapping shut as he collapsed against the side of the shower for balance. The water was no longer warm and pleasant, instead daggers against his skin and he reached out with a hand in a violent tremor trying to find the faucet handle while his other hand clutched to his head in hopes that he could hold himself together. 

_The clawfoot tub was a brilliant white looking like it had just been scrubbed clean with bleach. Steam rose into the air, the room silent in its relaxed state. A man with silvering hair lay in the tub. As Will stepped closer he found the pristine tub was filled with a deep crimson liquid, something that shouldn’t be bathed in._

_And there was Hannibal. Eyes closed, hands gripping the sides of the tub, a glass of wine near him on a chair that he had moved to the tub._

The water finally shut off and Will sunk to the bottom of the shower, clutching his head, lips bit tightly between his teeth so that he wouldn’t let out the scream that was in his throat. 

_Will wasn’t sure where he was, but a lighthouse was not something he thought he would find at the bottom of a cliff in the Atlantic and he was sure that whether this was a dream or hell, but he was going to finish what he started. Hannibal couldn’t be in this world. Not anymore. Not after what they had both done together. And he didn’t belong here either. He would take care of that._

_With silent footsteps, Will stepped up to the tub, going to one side, hands finding Hannibal’s throat as if it were second nature. Maroon eyes jumped awake, but Will shoved them under the blood that filled the tub._

Will stumbled from the shower, reaching for the towel on the hook on the wall. His feet slipped out from under him and he tumbled to the floor, towel coming with him. 

_Fingernails clawed at Will’s wrists, drawing blood to mix with the tub. Feet kicked and the blood splashed across the tiles, wetting Will’s bare feet._

_Will would remove them both. No more pain or suffering and absolutely no more blood_ _. No more crimson spilt. No more life drained away in sticky copper scents. No more fucking blood._

_A wine glass shattered against Will’s face and Will slipped in his attempt to step out of the way. Hannibal rose to the surface sputtering and coughing, water leaving his mouth._

_Will blinked. Water. He was sitting in a puddle of it that was slowly being stained with the red wine that had been thrown at him. His fingers touched the small nick in his cheek. It wouldn’t be enough to leave a scar, but it was enough to wake him up._

_With wide eyes, Will scrambled away from the tub, spreading the water further across the bathroom floor. Hannibal climbed from the tub, grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it around his waist, coughing so hard he began dry heaving. His hand took the side of the tub until he finally emptied his stomach into the tub and Will could only watch._

_Hannibal’s legs shook and he dropped to the bathroom floor, looking over at Will with watering eyes and flushed skin. “Are you alright?” he rasped out, throat raw. Will gave a shocked look, pushing himself even further away from Hannibal who was abnormally calm for having nearly been killed. “We need to get that cut taken care of so it doesn’t get infected and make sure you don’t have any glass in it.”_

_“I-I just,” Will stuttered. “But I just-”_

_“Doctor’s orders.”_

Will’s eyes snapped open as his thumb pressed into his wrist where Hannibal had taught him to press. He gasped, air cooling his burning lungs. A memory. It had to have been. Will wasn’t sure what else to make of it and Hannibal had said that he had been attacked by Will multiple times. It fit, but it made Will’s stomach churn uneasily. 

“Will?” a voice called through the door with a small knock. “Is everything alright?’ It was Hannibal. 

“Just slipped in the shower,” Will replied, voice scratchy. “I’m ok.” 

“Alright. Breakfast is ready when you come downstairs.” 

“I’ll be down in a moment.” 

Will could hear Hannibal’s footsteps retreat and he pushed himself onto his knees, pressure point still clasped tightly, afraid of what his mind would do once he let it go. 

He awkwardly got dressed, applying pressure to his wrist every moment he could and then made his way downstairs hoping that Hannibal wouldn't ask, would let what happened slide because somehow Will felt like Hannibal would immediately know what was wrong. He always knew. 

Will hit the landing and Izzy immediately jumped up, racing to Will. Will petted her head awkwardly and instructed her to go back to her bed and chew toy. 

Hannibal's eyebrows were furrowed as he caught Will's eyes. "You alright?"

"Just a migraine," Will replied softly, wandering over to the table where his place was set. On the china plate a half of an orange that had been hollowed and something that looked like chocolate pudding was in the middle, topped with whipped cream. Only his place was set though. 

"I have already eaten," Hannibal explained as Will looked over his shoulder. "You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you. I took care of Izzy. Just sit and eat." 

"What is it?" Will asked as he obeyed, sitting at his place setting and using a spoon to scoop up the chocolate dish. He placed it in his mouth and sighed. 

Hannibal smiled. " _Sanguinaccio Dolce_ ," he answered, sitting beside Will, taking his wrist and leaning his thumb into the pressure point that quickly lightened the pain that was clouding Will's vision. "Sweet black pudding." 

Will stopped and lowered the spoon with a crinkled nose. If his small trip to England to try to be adventurous had taught him anything, he knew full and well what was in this pudding. 

"Where were you this morning?" he asked, spoon lowering to the plate as his stomach twisted, fighting with his mind and tongue in the taste verses the knowledge of what he had just put in his mouth. 

"Would you like the honest answer or-" 

"I don't want to know," Will clarified quickly, taking another bite of the food in front of him, pushing from his mind what it was. "It's wonderful, as always." 

“Your forehead is bruised. Are you ok?” Hannibal reached out to Will and Will flinched out of his reach, his own hand going to his forehead and finding a bump that was beginning to form. 

“It must have happened when I slipped,” Will muttered. 

“I’ll get you some ice.” Hannibal rose from his chair and Will waited until Hannibal was well in the kitchen before he let his hands go to his head to try to keep it from splitting in half, the ball of a mace rolling around, knocking into the sides of his skull, battering him as if it wanted to get out. “Will.” 

Will glanced up and took the ice pack from Hannibal’s outstretched hand, placing it to his forehead. He gasped at the cold and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. The sound of Hannibal’s chair was deafening and Will winced as the wave assaulted him. Hannibal pulled Will’s hand from his head, quickly finding the pressure point again and Will gasped at the relief, laying his head down on the table, ice pack still firmly to the bruise. 

“Thank you,” he said, breathing hard, letting Hannibal’s other hand gently trace lines up and down his forearm. “This one is worse than last time.” 

“What did you remember?” 

Will blinked at the bluntness of the question but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head up from the table. “Of course you would know,” Will whispered, his breath fogging up the wood of the tabletop. 

“They’ve been worse when you remember things,” Hannibal explained simply, taking Will’s spoon and eating some of what Will had discarded. “We do not have to discuss it. I know that you prefer not to.” 

Will gave a small nod. Hannibal seemed better today than he had been yesterday. More himself than the sniffling man by the wine rack. And maybe last night had been something that the man needed. Something to help him get back into his mind space. Will didn’t have to be told to know exactly where Hannibal had been the night before. Will only hoped that whatever Hannibal had done had been done far away from their home. He didn’t want to leave here yet, or ever for that matter. 

“Did I...” Will trailed off, licking his lips, watching as his breath continued to fog the table before it disappeared. “Did I attack you in the bathroom?” 

“Are you referring to the time with the bathtub or the time with the-”

“Bathtub,” Will interrupted, really not wanting to hear about what else he had done to Hannibal. 

“Yes. As I recall, you nearly drowned me.” Hannibal wore a small smirk at the memory that played through his mind, something akin to pride in his veins. The monster he had unleashed in Will. “I think it was one of your better attempts.” 

“Don’t make this a joke, Hannibal,” Will grumbled as he thought over the event that was pounding through his skull. He shivered at how calm Hannibal had been. “I don’t like hurting you.” 

* * *

Jack stared at the body, head tipped to the side. The mall had been closed for them to work and Jack couldn’t find it in himself to move further into the room. The holiday displays were untouched, Christmas decorations still up. Trees wrapped in tinsel were undisturbed and the Christmas lights gave odd colored hues to the body of a teen girl. 

The blonde had been used to replace a mannequin, arms and legs in unnatural poses like the two she was placed next to. Blank stares. Waxy, thin, synthetically human. 

“She is between 16-18,” Zeller explained, looking over the girl for a moment. “Employees of the store said that yesterday she was yelling at a clerk because they wouldn’t take back the shoes she had purchased after their 30 days return policy.” 

“Due to the coloration of the skin, we think she was drained of blood,” Price continued. “There are also two holes, one in the bottom of each heel, that would help with draining blood. You can access the main arteries in your leg that way.” 

“Any other injuries?” Jack questioned, shoving his hands into his pockets wishing more than anything he had Will’s eyes on his side. Someone to see through the mess and put chaos into order. 

“She was most likely suffocated. There’s bruising around her neck,” Zeller answered, tipping his head to the side. “We couldn’t get any prints off her though. The killer wore gloves.” 

“There are also markings that a possible organ removal was performed, but we won’t know until we get her into autopsy. She’s too mutilated under the dress to outright tell.” Price shrugged with a tipping of his head. “It was him, Jack. I’m not sure who else it would be.” 

“Is there any security footage?” Jack questioned, pulling his eyes away from the girl and lowering them to where Price and Zeller were working and taking pictures of different things around them. 

“The cameras were out of order,” was Jack’s answer. 

Jack groaned frustratedly. “Of course they were.” 

“What are we doing with the cabin lead now?” Price asked curiously. “He was here last night. She’s only been dead for a few hours. Are they still in the city?” 

“They would have to be, wouldn’t they? How else would he have done this?” Zeller agreed. 

“He could have come back last night and returned to the cabin,” Jack suggested, turning away from the scene. “We keep searching for the cabin. He wanted us to find the body in the city, anything to pull us off their trail.” 

“And what about Will?” Zeller asked, getting to his feet from where he was taking pictures of the holes in the girl’s feet. “Do you think he was involved?” 

“If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be,” Jack grumbled with a sigh. “Get her back to autopsy so that we can figure out what she is missing. It’s time to add another count to the Chesapeake Ripper.” 

* * *

“It’s New Year’s tonight,” Will announced into the evening, wrestling a stick from Izzy’s mouth to toss it across the room once more. 

Hannibal glanced up to where Will was, that beautiful smile on his lips. Hannibal placed the pen in his hand into the notebook and closed it. “So it is,” he breathed out. 

“What have you been writing?” Will questioned, absently pushing Izzy away as she tried to jump on Will. “It’s been ten days. I still remember, Hannibal.”

“Yes, you do beautiful boy,” Hannibal said with a nod, fingers tapping the leather of the notebook. “I’ve just been making notes about the memories you have recovered. How are you feeling tonight?” 

“Enough,” Will instructed the dog softly. “Go lay down.” Izzy obeyed, circling her dog bed two or three times before finally settling into it. Will patted himself down to try to get the hair off him and got to his feet. “I feel fine. Why are you asking?” 

“Would you draw me a clock if I asked you to?” 

Will frowned. “To humor you?” 

“To humor me,” Hannibal agreed with a nod. 

Will was quiet for a moment and slowly stepped over to the couch, reaching his hand out. Hannibal flipped his notebook open to an empty page and passed it over to Will who began to scribble in it. “My name is Will Graham,” Will stated just as he had multiple times in Hannibal’s office. He glanced at the watch on his wrist before continuing. “It is 11:48 on New Year's Eve and I am in my home with my family.” 

Will closed the notebook and passed it back to Hannibal who was quiet with a raised eyebrow at what Will had said. Hannibal chose not to press the matter as he opened the notebook to the page that Will had drawn the clock on. 

He looked over the sketch for a moment, confirming what he had suspected. Though the clock was not what it had been so many years ago, it was not a perfect clock. The numbers were on the face, but they were scattered and disproportionate. 

Hannibal closed the notebook and set it aside, looking over Will who was waiting for an answer as to how he had done with the test. Hannibal gave a half smile that Will didn’t fully believe, but he didn’t pick at it. He didn’t want to ruin the nice, quiet evening. 

“Will, can I ask you something?” Hannibal questioned, rising to his feet, pulling off his suit coat, tossing it aside and then loosening his tie. Will gave a shrug and shoved his hands into his pockets. “How many times have you fed Izzy today?” 

Will licked at his lips, unsure of what Hannibal was trying to get at. “Twice. Why?” Will replied, watching as the vest joined the jacket and tie. Hannibal undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt and then folded the sleeves up until they were clinging to his muscles. “Hannibal?” Will asked as the silence drove on. 

“Would you like a drink?” Hannibal didn’t wait for an answer, simply went for the wine rack. 

“Hannibal,” Will said more sternly. “I expect an answer.” 

“No reason Will,” Hannibal replied to Will’s earlier inquiry. He looked over the bottles and picked one, holding it out to read the label. “Indulge me once more, if you would.” Hannibal nodded at the bottle in approval and reached for two glasses by the stems. He placed them onto the dining table and went about opening the bottle, twisting the bottle opener into the cork. “How many times did you shower today?” 

“Once this morning,” Will grumbled out, folding his arms over his chest. “Why?” 

“You have fed Izzy five times today and have showered three.” Hannibal placed the cork to his nose, smelling in the wine before he poured out a careful serving of the wine into the glasses before placing the bottle onto the table. He picked up both of the glasses and took one over to Will who hesitantly took the liquid. His eyes narrowed and watched Hannibal take a sip before he followed, fearing that something had been done to his drink despite the fact that he had watched Hannibal pour it. “You have also taken Izzy on multiple walks and chopped wood multiple times despite the fact that we haven’t had a fire today.” 

Will found himself at a loss for words, swallowing hard on some of the wine and coughing as the alcohol burned his nose. Will placed the drink aside, hand over his mouth as he continued to cough, a smoky burn now in his throat. 

Hannibal tipped his head to the side in concern and reached out, but Will held up his hand to stop Hannibal, breathing hard through the coughs. “I’m ok,” he assured, trying to catch his breath. “So, it’s happening again, isn’t it?” 

“It’s possible,” Hannibal answered with a nod, the concern flushed away and his clinical expression back in place, keeping the man strong. “But you have pulled from days like this just fine as of late. I hope that tonight will be just the same.” 

“I thought you didn’t do hope,” Will pointed out. 

“You will always be my first, Will.” Hannibal lifted his glass in a toast and finished off the drink, leaving it behind on the table and heading to the large glass window. Will stared after the man, unsure of what to make of him just leaving a mess behind. 

Will made his way to the window as well, glancing at his watch. 11:59. 

_My name is Will Graham. It is 11:59 on New Year’s Eve and I am home with my family,_ Will thought, trying to pound it into his mind. Everything else had kept so far. This had to stick. Had to stay. Had to be over. 

Will watched as the darkness outside of the window was illuminated with fireworks and with a final look at his watch he found it was 12 AM, January 1st. But he was still at home with his family. Still here. Still in place. Still in his mind. 

“Happy New Years, Hannibal,” Will whispered, enjoying the dancing lights and dull thuds outside of the window. 

A strong hand snatched up Will’s chin and turned his face until there were lips against his. Will smiled against the kiss, arms wrapping around Hannibal’s neck and pulling the man closer. Hannibal broke the kiss and pulled out of Will’s grasp, much to Will’s confusion. 

“ _Aš tave myliu, protingas berniukas_ ,” Hannibal whispered with a sad smile. “I’m going to wash up. Enjoy the fireworks.” Hannibal went to the living room and led Izzy to her kennel for the night and then fetched the two glasses of wine, going to the kitchen to wash them. 

Will turned his attention back to the window, watching the lights appear and disappear into the night. The muffled sounds of their crackling gave Will the off feeling of being able to hear waves crashing upon a coat line, the assaulting smell of saltwater, burning throats and lungs. 

A pain somewhere deep in the back of his head, something throbbing and sharp, making him dizzy. A lighthouse who worked hard on stormy nights, the swirls along the building seeming the climb into the sky as drugs pulled him back under. 

Fingers clawed at stitching that itched on his chest, pulling so hard blood dripped down his chest and caked under his fingernails. 

Confusion, anger, this driving need to end. End everything. They were unnatural, sick, twisted. They were predators and needed to be stopped. Over and over again, he tried to stop them and over and over again he failed. 

Fire, drowning, knives, guns, stairs. Anything he could use. Anything he could get his hands on to make it stop. He wanted it to all go away. He would make it all go away. 

And away it went. Blackness caressed by pain was all that was left. 

Eyes focused through the pounding in Will’s head and his heart dropped as he looked around, unable to place where he was. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Atlantic. This wasn’t the Atlantic. This wasn’t the Atlantic. 

“Will,” Hannibal called from the kitchen where he was drying the last glass, but there was no answer. Hannibal might have missed the movement if he didn’t look up, Will’s footsteps nowhere to be heard. 

Hannibal stepped back as the cork screw was brought down from over Will’s head. The glass fell from Hannibal’s hand and shattered on the floor causing Izzy to bark loudly. Will swiped at him again and Hannibal caught Will’s elbow with his palm. 

Ten days. A new record. Hannibal laughed at the thought. At the idea that he had been hoping Will would stay with him, that he was finally out of the woods. But Will never stayed. He was whisked away again and again and this was no different. A good moment ripped away from Hannibal, like they were all ripped away from him. Just as he deserved. 

Hannibal hooked his foot with the back of Will’s ankle and pulled, sending Will crashing to the floor. Hannibal stepped on Will’s wrist, using the leverage to wrench the corkscrew form his hand. Hannibal tossed it aside and pulled Will to his feet by the collar of his shirt. 

He always did his best not to hurt Will when Will relapsed, but the determination that was in Will’s face made Hannibal decide it was better to err on the side of caution. He let his fist collide with Will’s face and Will trembled back to the floor. Hannibal glanced around and grabbed for a baking sheet that had been used to cook dinner that was drying on the counter. 

There was a punch to his side and Hannibal crumbled into it, Will’s other hand snatching up the back of his collar to straighten him up. There was a loud clank as Will’s first hit the baking sheet Hannibal threw in front of himself. Will stepped back with a hiss, cradling his fist to his chest and Hannibal swung the baking sheet at Will’s face. 

Will tumbled back onto the floor and didn’t move. The baking sheet hit the floor with a crash and Hannibal dropped to his knees, breathing hard, a hand pressed into where Will had punched him. 

Hannibal crawled over to Will, fingers reaching out to check Will’s pulse. Finding it still strong, Hannibal took Will’s face in his hands. Will moaned, but didn’t move. He would be alright. Maybe some bruising, but he would live with minimal damage. 

Hannibal sat there for a moment longer, the dog’s angry barks somewhere very distant to him now. There was a roaring in his ears just like the wind rushing passed him as they fell even further down for eternity, not at all welcomed by the ocean. 

This was it. Hannibal had promised himself and he couldn’t break it. Not this time. This wasn’t right. None of it was. And he was absolutely the very last thing that Will needed in his life. There was nothing more Hannibal could do to help him. 

Hannibal got to his feet and went to his bag on the coat rack, digging through it until he found a syringe and a bottle of unmarked, clear liquid. He placed them on the side table next to the couch and went back over to Will, pulling his dead weight from the floor and over to the couch. 

Hannibal filled the syringe and pressed it into Will’s neck, pushing the drugs through Will’s veins just as he had so many times before. A sedative to calm, something to keep him safe from himself and his mind. Enough to keep him out until Hannibal could leave and someone could find him. 

Hannibal went to the stairs and pushed into his room, opening his closet. He reached into the back and pulled out a backpack that was already full of everything he needed to get a few days away. If his knee could hold up, then he could make it. He would be long gone before anyone could find him. 

He opened the front pocket on the bag and pulled his phone from it, throwing the bag over his shoulder, turning the phone on as we made his way back down the stairs. While it was starting up, Hannibal gathered several things from around the living room and placed them on the couch beside Will. His notebook with all of his analysis of Will, The Divine Comedy and the small box of fishing lures. 

* * *

“You boys should have been home hours ago,” Jack muttered as he entered their makeshift lab, now located in New York rather than Virginia until they caught their break. “Didn’t your flight leave at 8?” 

“6,” Price responded as he scribbled down on a clipboard something about the girl that was laid out on the table. 

“We couldn’t leave Jack,” Zeller agreed from where he was working on the computer, no doubt still trying to narrow down the search for cabins, but 80 was still far too much. They couldn’t go door to door. They just didn’t have the manpower. 

“It’s a holiday,” Jack pressed. 

“It’s always a holiday, Jack,” Price argued, lowering the clipboard. “He took her kidneys and liver. The rest looks like it's tact, but he wasn’t nice to her. She has GHB in her system. She would have been alive and aware through all of it.” 

There was an alarm that went off before Jack could ask another question and he turned to Zeller’s computer. “His phone pinged,” Zeller said excitedly. 

“Are you sure?” Price questioned, clipboard forgotten and attention on the computer. “His phone has been off for months.” 

“I set an alert so that if his phone ever pinged, we would know.” Zeller was busy typing on the keyboard. “Somewhere in Lewis County.” 

There was a ringing from Jack’s pocket and Jack flushed out his phone, staring at the name on the screen. Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Jack’s mouth went dry and he licked at his lips before answering the call and placing the phone to his ear. 

“Dr. Lecter,” he greeted with a small smile. Price smacked Zeller in the arm and the surprised man began pulling up programs on his computer, trying to trace the number. 

“Agent Crawford,” Hannibal answered, accent thick in Jack’s ear. “Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year to you as well,” Jack turned away from the two scrambling men so he could focus on the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I am afraid I am no longer in a position to provide medical care for Will.” There was some shuffling in the background, but Jack couldn’t exactly place it. “He needs help, Jack.” 

“Something that you can’t fix? That seems very unlike you, Doctor,” Jack taunted, glancing over his shoulder at the small fight that had broken out between Price and Zeller. 

“I did give my best efforts,” Hannibal assured. A dog barked in the background and Jack gave a curious look. “I’ve given him a sedative. It should keep him under until you collect him.” 

“You’re leaving him?”

“He has no need for me.” 

It was an odd sentiment, but Jack let it slide.

“And where might we find him?” Jack asked, turning back to his team and smacking at Price for the clipboard and pen. Price handed them over and Jack held the phone between his ear and shoulder, ready to write. 

“Mountain Laurel Cabin at The King's Pines,” Hannibal answered. “Just off the Independence River.” 

“We’ve got it,” Zeller called over his shoulder while Jack wrote down everything that Hannibal had said. 

“And where do you plan on going, Dr. Lecter?” 

“It was nice to speak to you again, Agent Crawford. Please do not take too long collecting your finest china. He needs medical attention.” 

Before Jack could ask anything else, the line went dead. 

“He turned his phone back off,” Zeller said, finger reaching out to the computer. “But we have the address.” 

“A cabin, near a river, five hours outside of New York City,” Price grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lengva pasakyti, bet ne padaryti- Easier said than done
> 
> Jūs žiūrite per rožinius akinius- looking through rose colored glasses
> 
> Aš tave myliu, protingas berniukas-I love you, smart boy


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where’s your jacket?” Will commented, eyes looking over the light summer dress and bare feet that followed along the rough icy asphalt without issues. 
> 
> The girl smiled with a small giggle, but didn’t reply. Simply kept up with his pace. She found the double yellow line in the middle of the road and she stepped onto it, walking as if it were a tightrope, arms out to keep her balance. Will found himself slowing his walk to keep at her speed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Hope you like this chapter. Kinda been a long week for me. My great-grandpa died and I've been trying to take care of that and then I caught what I hope is the flu and I've been sick in bed for the last like 4 days. Who knows. I could have gotten anything from those nursing homes or maybe from helping take care of both my siblings who were sick before I was. So, don't mind my fever fogged head. Enjoy. Love you all and than you for all of the lovely comments from the last chapter.

* * *

Alana raced into the hospital, heels clicking on the floor as she walked. Margot had begged her not to go, but she had to see him. She had to know if he was alright. She had to know if Hannibal had kept his promise. 

Alan turned the corner to find a small group of people sitting in the lobby. Among them were Zeller, Price, Jack, Molly and her son. Each of them looked worn and weathered as if they had been battered against rocks. 

“You found him?” she asked with a breath of air, calling everyone’s eyes to her. “It’s really him?” 

“It’s him,” Jack verified with a small nod. 

Alana’s heart jumped in her chest and she moved closer to the group. “Where? I need to see him.” She tried to move past Jack, but Jack stuck out his arm to catch her. “Jack,” she scolded, pushing her brown hair from her face. 

“We don’t know his mental state yet,” Jack explained. Alana gave him an incredulous look and he held out a black leather notebook that was in his other hand. “I would advise taking a look at this before you proceed.” 

Alana’s brow furrowed, lips pursed as she snatched the book from his hand. She opened it and glanced down to find her meteor’s scrolling cursive across the pages. Handwriting that she knew better than she wanted to. With a exhale, she began to skim the words, head tipping as she read over all of Hannibal’s medical notes on Will. 

“Amnesia,” Alana muttered softly, turning more pages. “Violent outbursts brought on by the trauma. I can’t place the type of memory loss it is though. It could be Anterograde or Retrograde, possible traumatic amnesia. It looks like he has symptoms of all of them.” She turned another page to find a clock drawn in scribbles, Will’s own handwriting. 

With one final page turn, Alan paused, eyes dancing over the rushed and hurried hand of Hannibal’s, scribbles that were barely readable in the swirls they were written in. It took a moment for Alana to finally separate the words and she read each one carefully. 

“Bastard,” she hissed, closing the book. “I keep my promises, my ass.” Her attention snapped back up. “Is he awake?” 

“No,” Jack answered softly. “But the moment he is, we are finding where Dr. Lecter went.” 

“You can’t do that,” Alana argued, a hand going to her head as she tucked the notebook under her arm. The familiarity of this was a bit overwhelming. Fights that she had thought they had long since moved past coming back up again and again. “You have no idea how he will react. He’s been showing tendencies of violent outbursts when he forgets. He is trapped in that trauma from months ago. He’s not going to want to think about anything but that moment.” 

“We have to find Hannibal. He already killed another girl,” Jack argued, voice rising slightly. 

“You cannot put him back out in the field!’ Alana argued, voice rising as well. “You know you can’t Jack! He is not your bloodhound!” 

“I don’t want any of you near him,” a small voice said somewhere behind Alana. She glanced back at Molly. “He’s coming home the moment he’s well and none of you are going to contact him. He is not going to work for any of you.” 

“He’s not going to be the same person,” Alana threw out. 

“I don’t care if he is or not,” Molly pushed. “You are bad for him. End of story.” 

“I don’t think that is your call to make,” Jack pushed. 

Molly rose to her feet with a scowl. “Until you are married to Will Graham, you have no say in his life.” 

_Police scattered the office, body bags and evidence markers, flashes of cameras. Will glanced around at the scene and then his eyes fell on an older gentleman sitting at his desk. His hair was silver and messy, not the normal slicked back that Will was so used to seeing it in. His nose had a cut across the bridge and his lip was split, blood staining his chin, the forming of a black eye beginning. He looked tired, Will noted._

_“I was worried you were dead,” Hannibal said. That was his name, wasn’t it? Will was certain that was right, though he wasn’t sure where he had seen or met this man before._

_“Tobias Budge,” Jack stated strongly, calling Hannibal’s attention away from Will, “killed two Baltimore Police officers, nearly killed an FBI special agent, and after all of that, his first stop is here, at your office.”_

_Will watched closely as Hannibal took a steadying breath. “He came to kill my patient.” All three of them turned to look at the larger man that still lay on the ground, eyes wide and blank, neck snapped skillfully._

_“Your patient,” Will muttered, wishing he could pull his eyes away from the body. “Is that who Budge was serenading?” Finally his neck obeyed and he looked back to the man in the chair at his desk who was also holding at a cut in his thigh that Will hadn’t noticed before._

_Hannibal shook his head lightly, confused. “I don’t know,” he breathed, obviously still shaken by the attack. “Franklyn knew more than he was telling me. He told Mr. Budge that he didn’t have to kill anymore.” Hannibal swallowed with another shaky inhale. “And then he broke Franklyn’s neck, and then he attacked me.”_

_“You killed him?” Jack questioned, not at all gently._

_Hannibal’s yes was small, barely a whisper._

_“Could Franklyn have been involved with whatever Budge was doing?” Will questioned in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation. Who were these people? How did he know their names? What had Budge done that was so wrong?_

_Hannibal’s gaze lowered to his hands. “I thought this was a simple matter of a poor choice in friends.”_

_“This doesn't feel simple to me,” Jack grumbled, switching weight on his feet for a moment before turning away and leaving the room._

_Will found himself stepping closer to the man, leaning against his desk with a sigh as he once more looked at the mess that had become of the once pristine office. How did he know it was pristine? Maybe it was the suit that Hannibal wore, a little ruffled, but otherwise looking entirely too perfect for having just been in a fight._

_“I feel like I’ve...” Will trailed off, trying to find the right words just as he so normally did. “Dragged you into my world.”_

_Hannibal shifted in his seat with a small sound of acknowledgement. “I got here on my own. But I appreciate the company.” Hannibal met Will’s gaze and instead of wanting to run like he normally did, eyes were so distracting, he felt a smile pull at his lips and he gave a small huff of laughter._

Will’s eyes shot open and he tried to breathe, but found that no air could fill his lungs. The alarms were blaring and his hands scrambled to remove the foreign items from his body. The clamp on his finger, the needle at his wrist, the intrusive tube down his throat that was making him gag. 

Hands fluttered over him as people rushed in, hands taking his and others holding down his shoulders. “Relax,” a gentle voice said, messing with the tubing in his mouth. I need you to inhale deeply and exhale and we’ll take this out.” 

Will did his best to follow the instructions of the brunette nurse with the concerned smile. Will exhaled and gagged as the tubing was pulled free, gasping as soon as it was gone. The burn was unpleasant, but at least he could rest back, eyes closed, chest heaving. 

“How are you feeling?” the nurse asked as footsteps surrounded him, reattaching everything that he had ripped off in his struggle. 

“Thirsty,” Will rasped out, his throat feeling as if he had been swallowing rocks, something familiar about the conversation that he couldn’t exactly place. He opened his eyes at a hand on his arm and took the small cup that was handed to him. 

“Can you tell me your name and where you live?” the nurse questioned, taking the cup back after he had finished it. 

“Will Graham,” Will answered, once more closing his eyes. “I live in Wolf Trap, Virginia.”

_My name is Will Graham. It is 11:59 on New Year’s Eve and I am home with my family_ _._

“And how old are you, Mr. Graham?” 

“42.” His eyebrows creased as he thought about it for a moment. He couldn’t recall having ever been asked these types of questions before while in the hospital. That was clearly where he was, but he couldn’t quite seem to recall how he had gotten here. Something almost like a dream was floating towards the edge of his subconscious, something about an ocean, but not much else. “Or-or 43. I’m not sure what the day is.” He exhaled deeply, hands reaching up to rub at his face. 

“When is your birthday, Mr. Graham?”

“January 30th.” 

There was a light laugh from her. “Still 42, I’m afraid.” Will’s lips cracked into a faint smile before the smile dropped at a soreness in his jaw, as if something was bruised. He took the pair of glasses that she handed them and slipped them on. “Mr. Graham, I believe your wife and son are here if you would like to see them. If you aren’t up for it, we can have them stay outside.” 

Will opened his eyes curiously, looking towards the open doorway to his room that was now empty save for the nurse. He could hear raised voices out in the hall, but he couldn’t exactly make out who they were right away. 

“Alana?” Will asked softly as her sharp voice carried into the room. 

“You can’t go in there Jack!” she shot out, her heels clicking down the hallway. 

Will braced himself for the oncoming storm that was heading his way and let out a steadying breath as Jack Crawford stepped through the doorway and into the hospital room, his shoulders making him look like he wouldn’t fit in any further. 

“Jack,” Alana said as she stepped into the room too, anger falling from her face at the sight of Will. 

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to-”

“It’s ok,” Will assured, interrupting the kind nurse. “They can stay. Would you mind letting my family know I’m alright?” The nurse gave a small nod and pushed her way through Jack and Alana, disappearing from the room. “Hello Jack, Alana,” he greeted. 

Alana gave her kind, sad, small smile that she was so good at and stepped a little closer to the bed. “I’m glad you’re alright. We were all very worried about you.” 

“Mind telling me what for?” Will asked curiously, looking around the room once more. 

“You don’t remember?” Alana asked, glancing back at Jack before her attention returned to Will. 

“What should I be remembering exactly?” Will pushed his glasses back up onto his nose with a frown. 

“Where did Hannibal go?” Jack demanded, voice stern. 

“Jack,” Alana hissed, hitting his arm. 

“Hannibal?” Will’s head tipped to the side in question. The odd name swirled in his head and he closed his eyes in thought. There was something strangely off putting about the name, but other than an unsettling feeling that he should know it, nothing was coming to mind. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about Jack.” Will finally answered, eyes opening. 

“Like hell you don’t,” Jack said sharply, stepping closer to the bed. Alana reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” 

“Jack,” Alana warned. 

Will glanced between the two of them, brows furrowed. What was he missing? Who was Dr. Hannibal Lecter? It really was a strange name. Will shook his head in an attempt to get it to stop echoing about his skull. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. I really don’t know who you’re talking about.” There was some motion at the door and Will’s eyes fell on Molly and Walter who were pushing their way in. 

“I’m glad you’re alright Will,” Alana said quickly, always able to read a situation. “Jack, we need to let him rest.” Alana pulled Jack from the room and Will didn’t miss the dark look that followed the doctor and agent from Molly. 

“He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Molly announced, turning to Will with a kind smile. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’m missing something important,” Will answered honestly, looking over his family curiously. This was his family. He knew it was, but this wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. Will’s eyes looked over the woman and her hesitant smile and then down at his stepson who was clutching a box in his hands. 

_Cluttered typewriters, tea sets that were missing pieces, clocks, some with shattered faces and stacks of old books._

Will closed his eyes at a momentary spike of pain in his head that disappeared just as quickly as it had come. “What do you have there, Wally?” Will asked curiously. 

“This was with your things,” Walley replied, moving closer to the bed and holding out the box. “I was wondering if maybe we could go fishing again.” The young boy held out the box and Will reached out to take it. He opened the clasp and was met with lures that were of a remarkable quality. Old, handmade. 

Will gave Walter a small half smile, closing the box. “Not with these. They’re expensive. But we can absolutely go fishing again.” He tousled Walter’s hair and Molly finally approached the bed. “How are you doing?” He reached out to her, hand resting on her hip, pulling her a little closer. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.” 

“Well, with the new dog, it’s been difficult. She doesn’t like anyone else. Fights with the others,” Molly replied with a small nod. “Izzy is a handful.” 

“Izzy...” Will mused over the name for a moment, trying to bring the dog to mind, but came up blank. “Did I hit my head? There are blank spaces that don’t make very much sense.” 

“We’ll discuss it at a later date,” Molly said, smiling kindly but the smile not reaching her eyes. “I’m sure the doctors would be able to tell you better than I could anyways.” 

“What did you mean by not bothering me anymore?” Will asked curiously, eyes firm on Molly who looked a little at a loss for words. 

“Jack abandoned you. Left you to your own mental devices,” Molly explained. “That’s not ok and it will not happen again.” 

“Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?” Will blinked as the words left his mouth, phantoms of a past conversation he couldn’t quite place. 

“He’s not good for you!” Molly argued, voice breaking as tears brimmed her eyes. “You can go back to teaching or fixing boats, but you are not going to be working cases for Jack Crawford.”

“I save lives,” Will shot back, unsure where his defense was coming from. Molly was right. It wasn’t good for him, but he felt the urge to fight it, some long forgotten instinct to push back. 

“And I bet that feels good,” Molly said sharply. 

Will stared at her, shaking his head at the thought that he had had this conversation before. “Generally speaking,” he found himself saying as if the words had already been laid out for him. 

“And what about your life? I don’t care about the lives you saved, I care about your life. You save lives.” She scoffed, causing Will to frown. “At what costs? Look at where you are.” Molly stepped out of Will’s grip and wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders. Will glanced around the hospital once more, more questions flooding his mind than answers. 

“Who’s Hannibal?” Will asked, knowing he wasn’t going to get any further in their disagreement. 

Molly’s face quickly changed to one of shock and she licked her lips. “A nightmare,” was her eventual reply, pulling her son with her to the door. “I’ll come by to check on you tomorrow. Think about what I said, will you?” 

“She just cares, you know.” The voice made Will jumped and he turned to find a young girl sitting on his bed. 18 or 19. Wind-chafed, plain but pretty. Dark auburn hair. Freckles covered her cheeks, a jagged gash across her neck and her legs swung, unable to touch the floor from where she was sitting. “I wouldn’t be too mad at her.” 

Will inhaled deeply, sitting up a little more in the hospital bed, glancing around the room for an answer as to where she had come from. She waited quietly for Will to say something, her icy blue eyes as piercing as the cold had been when Will had slipped under the ice of a lake. 

“Don’t remember me either, do you dad?” she asked, lips curling into a frown. 

Will’s brows furrowed and his mouth went very dry. “Dad?” he got out, looking towards the door as if someone would be there to help, to tell this poor confused girl that he was not her father. “I-I-I’m not your dad,” Will stuttered out, a shaky hand removing his glasses and wiping them at the sheet that was on him in hopes that maybe the girl was a spot on his glasses and that maybe he was on very good medication for whatever had caused him to end up here in the first place. 

The girl pursed her lips with a shrug. “Adopted dad,” she corrected, a smile spreading over her lips. Will placed his glasses back on, breath hitching when he found the girl still there. She frowned. “How do you not remember me? After everything we went through.” She snorted with hurt laughter. “Dad.” 

“Abigail,” Will said, the word coming to his tongue without any notion as to where it had pulled the name. But it must have been hers because she smiled brightly, a smile that seemed like it wasn’t used enough or at all for that matter. “What happened to your neck?” 

Her pale fingers went to her neck and touched the scar that was there. “Some of my other dads did this to me,” she answered. “Thank you for trying to save me both times. I know it must have been hard to watch me go through that twice.” 

“Watch what?” Will asked, eyes flickering between hers and the scar on her neck that was dripping blood as her fingers moved away, smearing the red across her throat. 

“Sir, are you alright?” 

Will jumped, breathing hard, looking to the door where another nurse was. Will’s head whipped back to the side of his bed that was empty, the girl nowhere to be found, gone like smoke. “Yeah,” Will answered, trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine.” 

* * *

“You can’t just bombard him with questions Jack,” Alana snapped, voice hushed after being looked at angrily by hospital staff. “What is wrong with you? His mental state is more fragile now than it ever has been.” 

“He knows where Dr. Lecter is,” Jack muttered, completely ignoring Alana’s outburst. “There’s no way he doesn’t.”

“Jack, he obviously doesn’t remember.” Alana’s hand was pointing back to where Will’s room was. “People block off traumatic experiences all of the time.”

“Then we force him to remember.” 

“You can’t force him to remember something!” Alana argued, a frantic hand pushing through her hair. “You never change, Jack. You can’t listen to anyone but yourself.” 

“He has to remember Dr. Lecter,” Jack countered. “They were on a honeymoon get away for three months!” 

“My husband,” Molly announced possessively, causing Jack to roll his eyes but not turn around, “does not remember Hannibal Lecter and it will stay that way.” 

“What do you mean?” Alana asked softly, shock stilling her anger. “He can’t just go through life not knowing-”

“Dr. Lecter has done nothing but manipulate and hurt Will,” Molly pressed on, ushering her son to go sit over by Zeller and Price. “This is going to be the best thing for him.” 

“I am not about-”

“Agent Crawford,” Molly cut in once more. “You were able to function just fine before Will and you are going to be just fine now. I appreciate you both caring about my husband, but this is what is best for him. If all of the bad is erased, then the nightmares will be gone, and the drinking, and the sleep walking, and the visions. Hannibal is more pain than what Will can handle.” 

“So, you’re just going to pretend like this man never existed?” Alana questioned, shaking her head in disbelief. Molly gave a firm nod. “There’s going to be spots in his memory where he’ll have questions.” 

“I was the youngest of several brothers. I am very well versed in lying,” Molly answered, folding her arms over her chest. 

“You can’t do that to him,” Alana challenged, looking to Jack for some sort of help. “He doesn’t have to go back into the field, but you can’t lie to him about a past that never happened.”

“He’s going to come after Will,” Jack stated. “He will come for you.” 

“I’ve survived worse than a hurt, love sick puppy.” 

Alana gave a confused look at the vision of Hannibal that Molly put forward, finding it hard to see Hannibal in that light. The blood stained teeth and muzzle of a wolf, maybe. 

“He is never going to know about Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” Molly enforced. 

“And what if he remembers?” Jack tossed out. 

“Then God better be real, because he will need to save us from the devil.” 

* * *

“Have you decided what you want to do today?” Molly asked into the silence of the car ride. Will’s head twisted slightly from where it was pressed against the passenger side window to his wife. 

“I think I would just like to rest,” Will answered before turning back to watch snow covered trees pass by him. A creek of water flowed freely over rocks and Will stared at it curiously, another sense of _deja vu_ washing over him, though he wasn’t quite sure what from. Maybe just from knowing they were nearly home. “Maybe take the dogs on a walk.” 

“That sounds like a good day,” Molly agreed, glancing over at Will before her eyes went back to the road to make a left hand turn. “And have you thought about work? You don’t need to go back right away.” 

“I think I would like to go back to teaching,” Will answered softly. “Gives me the feeling of normality.” 

“Alright.” 

“You’re just going to go back to normal?” a voice said in the back of the car. Will sat up and glanced behind him to find the same girl that had been in the hospital with him sitting in the back seat beside Walter who was busy playing games on a tablet. “After everything that happened?” 

“You keep saying that,” Will grumbled, rubbing at his face and under his glasses, wishing she would leave him alone. 

“Keep saying what?” Molly questioned with a confused lit to her voice as she pulled up into the driveway of their house. 

“Uh, nothing,” Will said quickly, eyes looking over the large house. It was familiar. It should be. It was his home. Well, it was Molly’s home, but it wasn’t quite right. The wood was old and weathered, the wrap around deck looking like it needed to be replaced. And the driveway was on the wrong side of the house. But it wasn’t. The driveway had always been right here, so why did Will feel like it should have been on the other side? He shook his head and got from the car. “I think I’m just going to go on a walk, clear my head,” he announced. 

Molly watched the man carefully as he shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold morning. His breath followed him through the air as he stepped back out onto the road and started down it. 

“You should have gotten another jacket. It’s cold,” the girl said, chasing after Will. 

Will glanced over her. Abigail was what he had called her, wasn’t it? And maybe that was her name because he had picked it for her. It had become fairly obvious to him that she was all in his mind. Some random manifestation that presented itself as his own kid, a kid he had never had. 

“Where’s your jacket?” Will commented, eyes looking over the light summer dress and bare feet that followed along the rough icy asphalt without issues. 

The girl smiled with a small giggle, but didn’t reply. Simply kept up with his pace. She found the double yellow line in the middle of the road and she stepped onto it, walking as if it were a tightrope, arms out to keep her balance. Will found himself slowing his walk to keep at her speed. 

Her tongue was out in concentration, eyes down at her tiptoes. “It’s not as easy as it looks, dad.” 

“I am not your dad,” Will stated firmly with a shake of his head. “You’re not even real.” 

“I am as real as you want me to be.” 

Will stared at her for a moment longer before starting off down the road again. She gave a sound of dislike at her game being dashed and raced after him, now back at his side. 

“You know, I can tell that you’re trying to remember,” she said, vapor rising from her plush lips that were turning a shade of blue in the cold. 

“Trying to remember what?” Will questioned, shivering at a breeze that picked up the fresh powder from the night before and dusted him with it. 

“Everything that happened,” she answered with a smile, skin looking pale and sickly. 

“You keep saying that. Nothing happened. I was attacked by someone while working a lead for Jack. I’m not sure what else you’re trying to get me to admit, Abigail.” 

“I like when you call me Abby better.” 

Will frowned and gave a huff of air. “I’m not calling you that. You’re lucky I named you at all.” 

“It’s because you remember that you called me that name.” 

Will stopped and turned to face the teen, licking at his cold chapped lips. “You’re in my head and I am crazy for talking back to you. I don’t remember you, you don’t exist.” 

“Then explain why the house felt wrong,” Abigail challenged with a smug smile. “Why did you feel cold when you saw the creek? Why does everything seem foggy and familiar to you?”

“It’s my house. Of course it’s familiar to me,” Will argued, realizing how insane he probably looked talking to the middle of the street, so he began walking again. 

“But it’s not the house you thought it would be, was it?” she taunted, bare feet pattering on the ground as she followed behind him. He shot her a dark look over his shoulder, informing her that it was time for her to be silent or to disappear, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t like to listen to him. What was the point of being her dad if she wouldn’t listen? But when did children listen to their parents? “What were you expecting, dad? A cliff side with a devastating fall to an ocean view? A lighthouse maybe? Or was it a cabin somewhere by a river with a spacious kitchen and someone there who reads you to sleep every night with tales in Italian?” 

Will’s brows furrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” He stopped once more in his steps, thinking over the words that she shoved into his mind. “The only person I know who speaks even the slightest bit Italian is Jack.” Will snorted. “And I can assure you that he has never read me a book in Italian until I was asleep.” 

“Not Jack, dad. Hannibal.” 

There was that name again. The one Molly refused to acknowledge. The one Jack had been so angry about. The one Alana was defensive about. A name that he had never heard before in his life. Dr. Hannibal Lecter is what Jack had called him. 

“How do you know-” Will broke off as he found himself alone in the middle of the road, wind pushing around his curls and chilling him to the bone. 

* * *

“I can help make dinner,” Will offered as he came down the stairs from where he had been sleeping, shadows of being trapped in a mental hospital clinging to his limbs. 

“We both know that you don’t know a thing about cooking,” Molly said with a smile as she cracked some eggs into a stand mixer of flour. 

“Pasta?” Will asked curiously, looking over Molly’s shoulder. She gave a small smile as she looked back at him, surprised. “There’s a really good wine sauce,” Will continued on naturally, wrapping his arms around Molly’s waist. “White wine, butter, salt and some parmesan. Some fresh basil might be nice too.” 

Molly didn’t acknowledge Will’s comments. She paused for a moment and Will could sense a feeling of detachment surrounding her that made him release his hold of her. “Where did you learn that?” she asked after a moment of silence that made Will step away, rubbing at his elbow sheepishly. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered softly, eyes firm on the floor as he searched his mind for an answer. “Maybe my dad made it once or something. I seem to remember a lot of the bad things he made. I’m sure there must have been some good things as well.” 

“Can you set the table, dear?” she asked gently, but Will didn’t miss the fact that she wanted him out of the kitchen in her disposition. “Wally, come help set the table.” 

The young boy jumped up from where he was seated in front of the tv and joined Will at the cupboards, Will passing the plates down to his hands so he could run to the table. Will followed with several cups, placing them down where Walter had placed the plates. 

“Wally, after dinner did you want to play that game with the squares?” 

“I’m going over to Danny’s tonight,” Walter replied, setting out the napkins that were ripped into odd shapes. “And the game is called Minecraft and they’re blocks.” 

“Who’s Danny?” Will questioned as he placed the silverware down on the odd napkins. 

“A friend from school,” the boy replied before heading back into the living room. 

Will looked over to Molly for more answers and she simply shrugged, turning on the mixer and having to raise her voice to be heard. “Wally is going to sleep over at their house tonight.”

Will tipped his head curiously at a small puff of flour and watched as it settled across the counter. 

_Foggy and familiar._

“You met his parents once,” Molly insisted, though Will wasn’t sure if he could find a time where he had met any of Walter’s friends’ parents. “They were the ones with the boat.” 

“Boat,” Will said with a nod though he was nearly positively sure that he had not met any of Walter’s friends’ parents and none of them had ever had a boat. “Right.” 

The doctor had said that he might not remember the last little bit of time and that some memories might not return at all, so it was very possible that he had met these random strangers with a boat and that only made a headache begin to set in. 

* * *

The night was cold against Hannibal’s skin as he continued down the road, knee aching from how far he had been having to walk. He had gotten a ride or two from strangers far kinder than him, but they only would carry him to the next town. He still had a long walk, as he didn’t want to actively hitch hike. It was just better if he didn’t interact with people. The less people, the less witnesses. 

But that didn’t seem to stop a car from pulling up beside him, the window rolling down. Hannibal ignored it and kept walking. The car followed slowly beside him. 

“Do you need a ride?” a voice called from the car. A man. 

“I can manage,” Hannibal answered, still not looking over at whoever was talking to him. 

“You’re limping and it’s cold. You shouldn’t be outside, especially this late. It’s nearly one in the morning. You’ll get sick.” 

Hannibal paused with a sigh, his breath floating away into the night sky before slowly turning towards the car. It was a Mercedes, something on the higher end. Something, that by the look of his younger face, was most likely a graduation present from his parents. 

Hannibal smirked as he took in the boy's age. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?” 

“They also taught me not to be rude.” His smile was kind as he leaned over the seat and opened the door for Hannibal. Hannibal glanced around the empty road. The next town was another few miles out and this was the first car he had seen in several hours. There probably wouldn’t be another and if there were, they were unlikely to stop. “Come on, get in. I don’t bite very hard.” 

Hannibal’s smirk widened at the comment, tongue swiping over his own teeth before he relented and climbed into the warm interior of the car, backpack going on the floor between his feet. He closed the door and settled into the car, holding his hands out the air vents to warm his frozen fingers. 

“Where do I need to drop you off?” The kid was something pleasant to look at. Blond hair that reminded Hannibal of his when he had been younger and eyes that he couldn’t exactly see in the dark. 

“The next town would be fine,” Hannibal answered. “I doubt you’re headed in the same direction that I am.” 

The car pulled away from the curb and the engine hummed through the dark. “I’m Eric,” the boy said, filling the air with a pleasant ambience. “You?” 

“Anthony,” Hannibal supplied easily, finally pulling his hands from the heater now that they were warm enough. “Why are you out so late? Shouldn’t you be focused on your studies?” 

Eric smiled and stole a look at the man beside him. “I’m actually heading back to school. I went home for the holidays.” 

“What are you studying?” 

“I’m working on my bachelors at the moment, trying to get into a medical school,” Eric explained, catching Hannibal’s curiosity. He looked over the boy, head cocked to the side. His eyes trailed over the boy and then the interior of the car to find it remarkably clean and empty.

“No, you’re not,” Hannibal stated after a moment. “Your parents think you’re going to school, but you wouldn’t be out this late at night if you were trying to go into medical school. I hardly left my dorm because of how much homework I had to do, even during the holidays.” 

Eric gave a small laugh. “You’re smarter than my parents.” He nodded, glancing at Hannibal again. “I dropped out of school a year ago. I just couldn’t stand them thinking that I was a failure. You’re a doctor?” 

“Who is the girl?” Hannibal asked, directing the conversation away from himself as smoothly as he could. 

“Girl?” Eric gave another laugh, making a turn that Hannibal quietly noted as going away from the closest town. “Not a girl.” 

“A boy then,” Hannibal muttered, watching the road carefully to know where he needed to walk back from. “Your parents don’t approve, I am assuming.” 

“Not in the slightest,” Eric agreed. “I would be disowned if they knew about Jared.” 

“But Jared is in school,” Hannibal pointed out. 

“I can’t visit him at the moment. He’s very busy.” 

“He’s the doctor then.” 

“A very smart doctor,” Eric answered, pulling over to the side of the road that was piled high with snow and dark without so much as a hint of a street lamp. “But like I said, I can’t visit him at the moment.” 

Hannibal shifted slightly in his chair. He knew what was coming as soon as they had made the wrong turn. “Why can’t you see him, Eric?” Hannibal asked, adding the boy’s name in to make the connection between them something more than where it was going. Names created a personal association. Hannibal would be a person, not an object. It would give Eric the feeling of importance, of being heard. Hannibal knew it all too well. It was a trick he used on patients, a trick that his own victims had tried to use on him. 

“He’s currently disposed.” Eric put the car in park and Hannibal tried not to notice when the headlights were clicked off, immersing them in darkness. Hannibal once more shifted in his seat, trying to make sure that he had all of the boy in his view. 

“Eric, what happened to Jared?” 

Eric’s hands gripped at the steering wheel and his eyes turned dark as he looked straight ahead into the night. “It was an accident.” 

“Where is he now, Eric?” 

“In that field.” 

Hannibal glanced behind him and to where the snow was laid out flat, past a fence and sparkling in the extremely dim moonlight. “Do I remind you of him?” 

Eric lowered his head against the steering wheel and gave a nod. “He had these sharp facial features and these brilliant eyes that would glow in the dark. They were terrifying. I had nightmares about them.” Eric looked up to Hannibal who sat calmly in his passenger seat, much to Eric’s confusion. By this point he would have had to lock the door to keep the men from running away. But not this man. This man simply looked on in mild amusement and curiosity, the same way that Jared had when Eric had said something out of the blue with absolutely no context. “You have the same eyes.” 

“I am not Jared, Eric.” Hannibal’s voice was soft and relaxed. “And I will not replace him or the other men that you have hidden in that field.” 

“But you could.” 

Hannibal shook his head. “I promise that I am not something you want. I am a car crash, not a lullaby.” Hannibal reached for the door handle, but there was a loud clicking sound and the door wouldn’t budge. 

“I didn’t say you could go, Anthony.” 

“I would advise against what you are about to do, Eric,” Hannibal warned with a simple tilt of his head. “You are not the monster that I can be.” 

“Shut up,” Eric ordered, hand reaching down and coming back with a knife that glinted in the moonlight. A steak knife, rusted and bent. Not of any type of quality that Hannibal would ever dream of purchasing. 

“You’re not going to like how this ends, Eric,” Hannibal tried once more. He wasn’t really in the mood for this. He wasn’t in the mood for all of the danger that he so easily attracted. In all honesty, he was tired and wanted to sleep, which he had been hoping to do at the next town which was a little more out of the way now than it had been. 

Eric didn’t say a word, simply got from the car, coming around to Hannibal’s side to open the door. “Get out,” he ordered. Hannibal obeyed, bag in tow and on the ground before the car door could shut it behind. 

Eric’s hand rested against Hannibal’s chest and pushed him up against the side of the car, knife pressed against Hannibal’s throat with a familiar pressure. The same pressure that Will had used back at the pig farm. Something not yet fully decided in action. Hesitant, battling within themselves. 

Eric stepped closer. “I can’t see him right now. But you remind me of him.” He stood up on his toes to match Hannibal’s height, breath mixing with Hannibal’s at the proximity. 

Hannibal reached out easily, with such practiced hands it was nearly muscle memory. Both clasped the sides of Eric’s face and with a fierce twist and a crack of bones, Eric’s body went limp and Hannibal let it fall to the road. 

With a deep breath, he looked out at the field that was oddly beautiful in the quiet night, something that could be a graveyard if it wanted to be, cradling the bodies in a bitter cold lace. 

Hannibal snatched back up his pack, tossed it over his shoulder and started away, leaving the car running and the love sick boy with opened glassy eyes to be covered in his own white lace as the snow began to fall from the sky. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He is narcissistic,” Jack offered with a shoulder shrug. “Eventually they get tired of people not knowing who they are.”
> 
> “Not him. He won’t get caught. Not anytime soon.” Will pointed at the file and licked his lips as words swam through his mind, begging to be said aloud. “Even if he wants to, he won’t let himself slip like that. But he wants to be seen, has a dying need to be heard. He has an audience and he wants them to know him, really see him.” 
> 
> “Why?” 
> 
> “Because he’s found someone."

* * *

Sirens were what woke Hannibal from a sleep that wasn’t that deep as it was. Several police cars by the sounds of it, traveling along the road just outside of the parking lot of the small hotel he was at. 

He inhaled deeply, rubbing at his eyes, feeling a hollowness in his chest without a dark haired man curled into his side. He forced himself up and to the bathroom to shower. As tired as he was, someone had obviously found Eric’s body. In a small town like this no one would be rushing about for any reason other than an emergency. He would need to move on. 

His knee ached under him from his abuse of it. He knew better. He had to work with it to strengthen it back up, but he couldn’t carry on the way he had been. There was pushing the limits for health and pushing the limits to be stupid and he fell into the latter category. 

He rubbed at the bruising with a wince, checking the mirror to see how his forehead was fairing. It was relatively healed, nothing to be concerned over. And he simply had some bruising from Will’s punch that was nothing to fret over for the time being, though the man had ended up being much stronger than Hannibal had given him credit for. 

As he stepped into the hot spray of the shower, he thought over the last day or two of events that had taken place and let out a deep breath, hand going against the side of the shower to balance himself. 

Will must be home by now. He would have just been at the hospital to be monitored until he woke. Hannibal was sure that Molly had already ripped him free of Jack’s grip if anything he had learned about the woman proved true. After all, she did outsmart the killer he set on her just to get Will’s attention. She could take care of Will better than Hannibal could. 

Normally Hannibal wasn’t one to let his grip go in a fight of something he truly wanted, but Will was his first. Will was full of firsts. The only exception to the rule, an exception that continued to grow. 

Hannibal knew that he was wrong, that he had never been right for Will, that he was sick and twisted and he had infected Will, but there was something about having someone to finally understand him, see him as himself that made him never want to release Will. And for a long long time he had done just that. Pulled Will in closer and closer, claws digging into the man’s flesh to keep him in place, but he couldn’t do it anymore. 

Not when each time Will forgot, Hannibal had to sink his claws in further. Not when something in the universe clearly didn’t want them together. Or maybe it was Will himself that didn’t want them together. Maybe Hannibal had been just as bad as Jack and had broken this man into so many pieces that he would never be put back together. His fragmented mind was all that was left. 

Molly would straighten him out though. Molly and the doctors. He was sure Will would want tests done just as he had when he had encephalitis. Will had gone back to Dr. Sutcliffe multiple times before Hannibal had killed the doctor. Will wasn’t one to stop searching until he found his answers. It was what drove Will mad. He needed those answers to sleep at night, even if the answers resulted in nightmares that drove the sleep from him. He was a child who couldn’t stop asking why. 

Hannibal turned off the shower and readied himself for the day, jeans and jacket. Not what he would prefer, but they were sturdy and would keep him warm as he walked on, taking every back road he could until he could reach another one of his safe houses, let himself rest and move on. 

With one final wipe down of the hotel room and anything he touched, Hannibal left and went out onto the sidewalk letting more police cars pass him by without a second look in his direction. Because he wasn’t a monster. Not in the daylight. 

* * *

“What are you doing?” Molly questioned as Will hit the last stair and came into view. It was late afternoon, Will had been sleeping all morning and Molly had let the man sleep, thinking it had probably been a long time since he had dreamt of anything peaceful. 

The border collie that Molly had claimed was difficult jumped from her bed that was away from the other dogs and made her way over to him, nuzzling her nose at his palm. He rubbed at her head with a small smile. He seemed to be the only one that the dog liked and he wasn’t bothered by that. It was nice to have something that was kind of his in this storm that was raging through his mind. 

“Sit,” Will ordered, before moving over to Molly. “I have a class in...” Will looked over his watch, “an hour?” Will straightened his tie and Molly couldn’t help but note the different knot that he used. Full Windsor instead of his normal half. The same knot that Hannibal wore, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she knew, having never really met the man. But she had heard enough. More than enough. 

Molly frowned at the comment and placed her phone aside. “I thought we talked about this? You were going to wait for a week or two.” 

Will gave a small nod, eyes avoiding Molly’s face, though she was used to it by now. “I know. But I can’t sit here anymore. I need something to do.” 

“There are plenty of things to do here Will.” She gave a faint laugh that had an underlying of being pissed off in it. 

“I can’t watch TV anymore. I need to be doing something.” Will went to the counter and snatched up the keys to the car. 

“The bathroom sink still needs to be fixed,” Molly offered. “That would keep you busy for a while. I’m sure we could find other things that need to be fixed. Like the AC.” 

“It’s winter,” Will reminded as he pulled on his jacket. “And I will take a look at the sink when I get back.” 

“Alright.” 

Will stopped on his way to the door at a tone to Molly’s voice that he couldn’t quite place. He frowned and looked to the floor, shuffling his feet. “Look, I need to be doing something. I don’t know why this is the something that I need to be doing, but it is. I can’t sit in this house anymore. I need something to keep me distracted so that I don’t think about certain things.” 

“What certain things?” Molly asked, tone darkly curious as if she didn’t really want to know but she needed to for some reason unknown to Will.

“Just some nightmares I’ve been having. They’re nothing,” Will assured, not really wanting to get into the demon monster that haunted his dreams. A wendigo with skin as dark as pitch, horns tall and reaching for the sky and eyes red as blood, drinking Will in every time they looked at him. 

“And teaching a class about living nightmares is going to help?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Will finally got out, shaking his head and reaching for the door. “But it’s stable and something I know I am good at. I’m going to be late.” He pulled open the door and was about to close it behind him before thinking better of it. What kind of a man was he to treat his wife in such a way? He moved back to the couch and leaned over it, placing a kiss to Molly’s cheek, muttering a goodbye and heading out into the chilled afternoon air. 

The sun was hidden behind grey clouds, giving the snow around him a sleepy kind of dreamlike yellow color. It made him want to climb back into bed and sleep the winter away in hopes of warmer days to go fishing in. 

He climbed into the car and rested his hands on the steering wheel, the item feeling odd in his palms as if he hadn’t driven in months. He started the car and pulled from the driveway, starting the nearly hour long drive to the FBI Academy.

The radio played softly, a nice break up to the silence around him. 

“Now I’m stuck in this hotel room,” Will sang along softly, turning onto the main road, hands patting at the steering wheel in time to the music. “By a cold neon light. And I’ve been waiting for an answer, but it won’t come tonight.” 

He trailed off as he glanced around curiously at the newly paved road. When had they done this? 

“How am I supposed to love you when I don’t love who I am?” 

_A guitar strummed in the firelight and the scent of home cooking was strong._

_“Sing it for me. Please?”_

_The accent was thick, something implacable. Something comforting. Something that floated around him and let him drift off to sleep without a care of being awoken terrified. And even if he was, that voice would still be there when he woke to chase the monsters away._

A horn blared and Will pulled the steering wheel, slamming on the breaks as a truck passed him, going the opposite direction. Will moaned, a hand going to his head where a fluttering pain was. 

Did he doze off? He had drifted into the other lane. Maybe he should call out from work and go back home. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready for this. Maybe Molly had been right. 

He inhaled deeply and took in his surroundings. He was nearly to school. He could think about this later. He had a class to teach and he had to make sure he was in the right mindset for that. He needed to prepare, not think about a disembodied voice. 

* * *

“The Norfolk Collector,” Will said, the projector clicker in his hand. He leaned back against his desk, straightening his glasses, avoiding all the eyes that were on him from the random formation of students taking notes. “This man's name was Dr. Colton Durret.” Will clicked to the next picture and glanced back over his shoulder to see an older man with large coke bottle glasses from the 70’s. 

“Colton Durret was what many of you would probably refer to as an Angel of Death," Will continued, trying to ignore the person who was once more darkening the door of his classroom. "He was a profound pathologist. Did well in school, taught himself many languages, rejected god and was rejected in turn by his peers." 

There was a pointed look from Jack at the similarities between Durret and Will. Will cleared his throat and turned away from the door to the projector screen. He quickly changed the slide to an older woman. 

"This is Janet Adkins, 45 year old suffering with Alzheimer’s. His first victim. Colton Durret was a firm believer in Euthanasia. According to him, his collection count is 130.” 

His eyes met Jack’s for a moment over Will’s shoulder, quickly looking away before he had a chance to be sucked away in his gaze, before he stole secrets that he never wanted. But there was a hint of dislike in Jack’s gaze and Will couldn’t help but place it as something personal, the idea of euthanasia bitter across Jack’s person. 

“And I am calling it a collection because that is what he thought of these people as,” Will stated, hitting the next slide where there was a list of all 130 names. “These were not people who needed help and he was gracious enough to help them, which distinctly removes him from the realm of Angel of Death. These were people to add to his resume, to his idea of self-importance. That the world needed him when he had been so rejected in his past. Another piece of memorabilia of something that he had done right.” 

* * *

“What can I do for you Jack?” Will asked as he gathered up the files on his desk and shoved them into his bag as his class was dismissed and filtered out of the room. 

“I didn’t think you would be back here so quickly,” Jack commented, looking around the classroom as if it were foreign to him, as if this weren’t the first place that they had really spoken. 

“Stability is important in my life,” Will informed him, the speech he was certain he had said over and over again to the man. “What can I do for you Jack?” The words were said with an annoyance in them, something that Will wasn’t exactly sure where it came from, but was not wrong in how he felt. He pulled his bag over his shoulder and scooped up his laptop, tucking it under his arm. 

“I came to ask for some help with a case,” Jack replied, causing Will to roll his eyes as he made his way from the classroom. 

“At least you didn’t interrupt my class this time with your ambush.” Will removed his glasses from his face and hooked them into his shirt, pulling a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket. “I believe my wife was very clear about not letting me work for you. And I personally do not want to work for you.” 

“I need help finding the Chesapeake Ripper.” 

Will paused, a hand on the door leading out to the parking lot. He looked down at his feet with a deep breath, mind alight with a fight. A want to continue the case he had sunk so much time into and to honor his wife’s wishes and keep him sane. 

“I’m sorry Jack,” Will finally said, pushing open the door as the end of their conversation. “I can’t help you anymore.” 

* * *

Will’s eyes were closed firmly, but he couldn’t sleep. He was trapped back in case files, back at crime scenes, back in... Baltimore Maryland? That wasn’t right. 

Will shook his head to clear the idea from his mind as he returned to the artistic intentions of the Chesapeake Ripper, body after body. Ones that he couldn’t exactly place as being the Ripper’s, but knowing full well that they were. He couldn't exactly trace his own leaps in his thought process though. The evidence normally carried him, but this time there were blank spaces that he couldn’t fill. Spaces that he desperately wanted to understand. 

There was a girl, in a field, mounted on a stag head. Something so utterly different from the Ripper, but something also so very Ripper. And the organs missing were not what Will was thinking of. There were millions of murders where organs went missing or were ripped from the body. 

It was the beauty of the killings that stuck out to Will more. Something carefully crafted and painted and for some reason he felt like they had been sculpted just for him. As if he were the Ripper’s only patron, the only one who could see. No, not see. The only one who cared to take notice, to understand. 

Paint and charcoal, pastels and ink. 

Beautifully created imagery that was a callback to Renaissance paintings of old. Increased awareness of nature, a revival of classical learning, and a more individualistic view of man. The mastery of illusionistic techniques, a depth to the art that only Will could see. And as gruesome as it was, the artist did respect the nobility of Man, his own twisted form of Humanism coming through.

_“I feel like you might recall my sketch of Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus.”_

Will’s eyes shot open and he sat up, looking around the room to find that Molly was still fast asleep and that the voice did not belong to anyone else. Another disembodied voice, another projection conjured up by his own mind. 

Will rubbed at his tired eyes that were burning slightly and pushed from the bed, feet touching the cold wooden floor. He stretched and wandered from the room, finding himself in front of his laptop. 

Curiosity pulled at him as he typed in the name of the artwork that his mind had somehow produced, though he wasn’t sure where he had ever heard it before. He was not very familiar when it came to art or artists, but maybe he needed to learn more about this man if he was going to catch him. He obviously loved old art. 

Catch him? Will exhaled deeply, lowering his head into his hands as he waited for his search to load. He shook out his hair, feeling the stiffness and ache from it having been plastered against the back of his head for several hours. 

Will wasn’t going to catch him. That wasn’t his job, not anymore. His job was to teach others how to catch him. Teach them what he did, what he could do, his stupid little gift that was more pain and trouble than it was worth. Something that you couldn’t teach, but did people want to know how he did it, his little parlor trick. 

He opened his eyes and looked over the computer screen, clicking on images and pulling up the painting. Gavin Hamilton was the artist, a name Will didn’t recognize, but the artwork he did oddly enough. Though not in the color that was before him and the faces weren’t quite right either. 

_Long artistic fingers held tightly to a pencil, the light sketching creating a scratching sound in the quiet office space. The fireplace was warm and cast a lovingly shadowing glow over sharp cheekbones and flickering brightly in the scalpel on the desktop._

_Will stood to the side of the desk, watching curiously at the artist’s work as shading was added to a cloth of some sorts, draped over a man who must have been dead. It was him and this man beside him who he just couldn’t seem to find the face of through the dim lighting of the room._

_“Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus,” the man explained, moving his hand away from the drawing so that Will might see it better. “Whenever he’s mentioned in the Iliad, Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy._

_“He became Achilles on the field of war,” Will stated, head tipping to the side to watch the man continue his work. “He died for him there, wearing his armor.”_

_The man gave a small sideways nod at the accuracy of the story. “He did.” There was a small pause. “Hiding and identity is a constant theme throughout the Greek epics.”_

_“As are battle tested friendships,” Will stated, the words coming out slow and calculated as if he needed to make sure that everything coming out of his mouth was absolutely perfect in the presence of this man who was still busy drawing the romantical whimsy._

_The man stopped at that, lowering his pencil and looking up at Will, face still hidden behind shadows that would not disappear even though there was more light from the fire to uncover the man’s face._

_“Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone._ _” Will was quiet as dark eyes landed on him, meeting his for a fraction of a moment, something ruby red in them before Will tore his gaze away. “Took divine intervention to bring them down,” the man continued on, not seeming bothered by the defense Will often shielded himself with._

_Will’s hand opened and closed a few times as he tried to think of something to say back to this man, feeling as if the story was more closely related to them than Will could fully place. Will glanced over to the fire, the flames calling him forward._

_“This isn’t sustainable,” he muttered._

Will blinked several times, breathing hard, the palm of his hand digging into his right temple at a pounding there. He closed the laptop to dim the light that was brighter than what his head wanted. 

His hands moved as if they had been trained and his thumbs hooked together until his index finger was touching a specific point on his wrist. He pushed into the point and a clarity overcame his mind, only for confusion to rush in at how he knew how to find this release. 

He glanced over where his thumb was pushing into his wrist, long artistic fingers replacing his. His eyes gleaned around the room to find someone else there with him, but he came up empty. His eyes dropped back to his wrist and they were once more his fingers. 

* * *

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Will announced as he stepped into Jack’s office without knocking. Jack glanced up from his paperwork, hands folding on his desktop, eyebrows raised as he waited for further explanation to the several questions that were now in his mind. Will pulled off his coat that was covered in snow and tossed it aside on a chair, hands rubbing at his face and running through his curls. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the case.” 

“You don’t have a case, Will. You, Alana and your wife have been very clear that I am not to give you any more work to do. It unstables you,” Jack said back calmly, though the curiosity was still heavy in his tone. 

“That doesn't stop my mind from wandering. It’s very good at that.” Will rested his hands on his hips and sighed deeply, looking at Jack, but not anywhere near the man’s eyes. How he hated eyes. They were portals to hells that he never wanted to visit, to a person’s own personal inferno that was theirs to suffer in alone. 

_“Necessita c'induce, e non diletto_ _.”_

Will glanced around the room at the words that sounded like they were said right in his ear, the scent of a live fire bright in the room and something else. Books and wine. Cooking possibly. Something expensive and finely made. 

“Will,” Jack said sharply, pulling Will back to the present. No fire, no wine, no books, just a cold winter day with an annoyed FBI agent. “What did you drive all the way down here to tell me?” 

“I have a profile for the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will answered, voice quick as if he wanted to get this over with. And maybe he did. The quicker he let Jack know about the profile, the quicker he could go back home. 

Jack sat back in his chair, a hand covering his mouth, waiting for Will to continue. 

Will licked his lips, suddenly nervous to be put on the spot even though that was where he had asked to be. “Uh, uh, uh,” he stuttered, “this man will be between 40-50. He will have money. Lots of money, old family money, but also money from his medical background. He will be in high society. He will be polite and able to hide anywhere he wants, but he won’t. He’ll stand out on purpose. He’ll be charming and captivate a room.”

Jack listened closely, doing his best not to accuse Will of still knowing where Hannibal might have been. Jack wasn’t sure if Will could describe the man anymore to a T than he was. It bothered Jack if he was being honest. Will knew, Jack was certain of it. Would bet his life on it. Will remembered and was pretending to give Hannibal time to escape. He could still recall clearly the conversation they had had a few months prior to Hannibal’s escape. Will admitting that he told Hannibal to run because he wanted to run away with Hannibal... Manipulated and tricked little broken pony. 

“He will be foreign, most likely from Europe,” Will continued, starting to pace, one hand sliding into his pocket as the other waved about as he spoke. 

Curious, Jack shifted the other way in his chair. “And how did you come to that conclusion?” 

“He’s artistic,” Will explained, the word _artistic_ clicking as it was enunciated. “He pulls heavily from the Renaissance period. He would think of this age as something above man, something that is the way life should have been lived but is lost to time. He tries to live up to that time. He holds court like a king anywhere he goes. A king without a throne, his domain wherever he places his feet.” Will inhaled deeply, looking to Jack to see if the man was still listening. Seeing that he was, Will continued on. “He would still hold a position of power. Something that lets him hide in plain sight. Something that allows him to work with people, that allows him to be a person that is depended upon. Probably still in the medical field.” 

“Will,” Jack interrupted, making Will’s feet stop in their pacing that was going to leave a dip in the floor if Jack let him continue. “This isn’t your case.” 

Will’s face scrunched up with a dark look. “This is what you want, isn’t it? My mind at your disposal? I’m offering it to you free of charge, Jack.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Jack explained, sitting forward in his chair, hands folded back in his chair. As much as he would give to have Will back on his side, it wasn’t possible. Not to mention the fact that Will was just spouting back everything that Jack already knew about Hannibal. “What matters is your mental health and I am not breaking you again.” 

“You didn’t break me,” Will shot back, head shaking in dismissal. “I feel fine. Just restless, like I’m missing something else that should be obvious to me.” 

“Maybe sleep?” Jack offered with a deep breath, removing himself from the chair behind his desk and coming around to face Will who took a quick step back. “Will, go home. Put this from your mind. Molly will never let you come back here if I let you help again.” 

“But I want to help Jack,” Will insisted. “I can help.” 

“By staying in your classroom. No more field work for you.” 

“At least let me look at the files,” Will tried once more, unsure why he so desperately wanted to help, to find this killer. This killer had been the reason for his issues, all of his mental breaks, all of his nightmares. Maybe if he could put the Ripper away, then the bad would go away. It was a lie he had to keep telling himself. “I look at crime scene photos all of the time for my class. I can handle a case file, Jack.” 

Jack sighed, rubbing at his jaw in thought. He shouldn’t, but he was never one to not take help where help was given and he definitely wasn’t a fool to reject Will’s observations. They were valuable. 

“Only the case file, no field work,” Jack stated firmly. 

Will gave a small nod and watched as Jack gathered together several things on his desk, closing them up in a manila envelope before handing it over to Will, who took it quickly. Will flipped open the file and blinked several times, taking in the girl that was on display in a mall. 

“Where was this?” 

Jack watched Will curiously as the empath flipped to the next picture. He so desperately wanted to see if Will had been there. If Will knew about the latest victim. If Hannibal had said anything about it. 

“New York,” Jack replied. 

“That’s a little further than he’s killed before.” 

The girl was blonde, young. Early twenties at the oldest. Looked well off with a beautiful summer dress on over her sickly pale skin. It didn’t appear like there was anything physically wrong with her. She was in one piece, the only thing out of place being the way her neck was broken, not snapped though. The life had been choked out of her, slow, painful. By the way the bruises were shaped, Will wondered if maybe the Ripper, if this had been him at all, had played with her. Bringing her back to life so she was conscious once more, just to cut off her air and send her back under until he was finally done with her. 

“What makes you think this is the Ripper?” Will asked softly, turning to the next picture of the bottom of her bare feet that had holes in the heels. “He drained her blood?” 

_On the china plate was a half of an orange that had been hollowed and something that looked like chocolate pudding was in the middle, topped with whipped cream._

" _Sanguinaccio Dolce.”_

“Sweet black pudding,” Will muttered under his breath, unsure where the words came from or what to make of them. He shook his head and flipped to yet another picture of the young girl on an autopsy table, torso mutilated beyond recognition, having been hidden under the summer dress. 

“What did he take?” Will pushed, still waiting for Jack to give him an answer. 

“Blood, kidneys and liver. There was GHB in her system.” 

Will’s lowered the file in thought, doing his best not to let the images of the massacred body cling too tightly to his mind. “Were other victims drugged?” 

“Some of them,” Jack answered with a nod. “I think it depended on how much he disliked the person. His more brutal murders didn't have anything in their systems when they died.” 

Will closed the file and his fingers tapped on it a few times while he placed things together, sorting out the corners of the puzzle first. He reopened the file and pulled out the picture of the girl posed as a mannequin. 

“This one is different from the others,” Will said after a moment, turning the picture slowly around in his hands, trying to get a slightly different angle on the puzzle. “It’s still him, but there’s something wrong with it.” 

“We think that he was trying to keep us away from where he was really located,” Jack explained. “Like he was-”

“Trying to create an alibi for himself?” Will finished with a question, tipping his head the other direction. “No. That’s not right either. This was hurried. He didn’t take his time with this one. This one was desperate, needed. Something to tone down his anxiety, if he’s capable of feeling such a thing.” 

“So an addiction.” 

Will’s face screwed up in dislike at the idea Jack was putting forward. “He’s not addicted. He has cooling periods of two to three years at a time. He doesn’t need to kill. He wants to kill. But with her...” Will trailed off, putting the picture back into the file and pulling out another out, eyes flickering across it, memorizing every mark that was left behind, any tell of the Ripper, his signature in the bottom right hand corner of his portrait. “He was not as put together when he killed her, almost as if it was a spur of the moment idea. No. That's not quite right.” 

Jack exhaled as Will contradicted himself, obviously not as sold on the idea as Jack was that Hannibal was just as big a junkie as the next person was. Everyone had their thing and this was Hannibal’s.

“It was planned...” Will trailed off.. “It was...” Will stared at the floor, trying to place his finger on what exactly he was feeling, what this killer’s design was. “His motive is complicated on this one.” Will rubbed at his stubble. “She did something that sealed her fate. He wasn’t going to let her live, but what he wanted her for was different. It wasn’t a need, it wasn’t to create a masterpiece, it was a want to correct society while also trying to place a distance between him and his crimes here. But at the same time, he wants it seen, he wanted it found and noticed. It’s like he almost wants to be caught.” 

“He is narcissistic,” Jack offered with a shoulder shrug. “Eventually they get tired of people not knowing who they are.”

“Not him. He won’t get caught. Not anytime soon.” Will pointed at the file and licked his lips as words swam through his mind, begging to be said aloud. “Even if he wants to, he won’t let himself slip like that. But he wants to be seen, has a dying need to be heard. He has an audience and he wants them to know him, really see him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s found someone,” Will tossed out, the idea coming to him out of the blue. But it made sense. “This was for that person, whoever it is. Maybe a friend, maybe a lover.” Will gave a shrug. “Uh, he wants to impress them. Wants them to see that he’s his own artist. Not just one who can copy works of the greats.” 

“So, this person,” Jack began, testing the waters carefully, eyes narrowed on Will who was acting fairly calm for the conversation they were having. “Can he see the Ripper?’ 

“Not the way the Ripper wants him to,” Will answered with a small nod, not catching the pronoun that Jack had used. “They might not even be aware that the Ripper knows who they are. Oblivious to his advances, whatever they might have been. It’s his love letter.” 

“Like the one in Italy?” Jack asked curiously, waiting for Will’s reaction. 

“Italy?” he asked softly, closing his eyes. “I don’t recall the Ripper ever having been to Italy. Unless you are referring to his past, then it’s possible. I did say European.” 

“There was a murder in Italy a year or so ago. One that I am positive is the Ripper. He murdered a young man and twisted his body and limbs inside out to look like a heart. Displayed it in the Norman Chapel in Palermo.” 

_There was a heartbeat. It was loud and echoing through the chapel of the Italian church, the floor crimson and marked with skeletons. Atop the engraving on the floor is a man’s mangled body, missing limbs, twisted into an anatomically correct heart, bleeding upon its easel made of a trio of shining swords._

_Will walked around it carefully, trying to understand._

_“I splintered every bone, fractured them... dynamically,” he whispered as he circled the artwork. “Made you malleable. I skinned you.” He could hear the knife cut through the skin. “Bent you, twisted you and trimmed you.” The cracking of bones now made of dust. “Head, hands, arms and legs.” He gave a small laugh. “A topiary.”_

_Will hesitantly stepped closer, arm slowly reaching out, fingers searching._

_“This is my design.”_

_Fingers finally splayed against the body, still warm and sticky with blood. Will’s horror quickly changed to curiosity as the faux organ heart beat beneath his fingers, alive._

_“A valentine written on a broken man.”_

Will groaned, the hand that had been holding the folder dropping what it held and going to his head as he doubled over in blinding pain. The pictures and reports scattered across the floor, the sound deafening in Will’s ears.

“Will,” Jack said, stepping forward, a hand taking the man’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“Italy,” he whispered. “I was in Italy, but I’ve never been to Italy Jack.” 

“Alright.” Jack led Will to a chair and helped him into it then went back to pick up the mess on the ground. “This was a bad idea. We’re not doing this again.” 

“I can help,” Will argued, blinking tears from his eyes. 

“Not in this condition. You need to go back home and rest.” Jack sighed and tossed the messy file onto his desk. “I am trying to do the right thing for once Will. Go back home.” 

“But Jack-”

“Home.” 

* * *

“What are you reading?” Margot’s soft monotone voice asked. Alana sighed and closed the notebook that had Hannibal’s writing in it. She could feel the younger woman’s hand take her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been closed up since you went to see Will.” 

“He’s suffering from some sort of amnesia,” Alana explained, her own hand going to cover her wife's. “I’ve been trying to figure it out from the notes that Hannibal kept, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it.” 

“Hannibal’s notes?” Margot asked curiously, receiving a squeeze at her hand from Alana. 

“Will doesn’t remember Hannibal. None of it. According to Jack, Will doesn’t remember going to Italy to track down Hannibal. All of that was erased.” 

“Maybe he’s the one with the blessing,” Margot offered out thoughtfully. “I think all of us wish we could forget about Hannibal.” 

"He doesn't remember any of it. Not the mental Institute, not the court hearings, nothing. It's almost as if he is picking and choosing what he wants to remember."

"Pain is difficult to live with. His head has always been a mess. Mayne it's trying to clean itself up and the first thing that needed to go was Hannibal," Margot suggested. "Has Hannibal been found?" 

Alana shook her head with another sigh. "No. He has not." 

"And are you worried about that?" 

"He always keeps his promises," Alana answered, staring out of the window to where their son was playing with Winston, the only dog Alana hadn't been able to give away.

"We can move again if you would like," Margot offered. "Though, I don't know if we can run forever." 

"We cannot run forever," Alana agreed. 

"Nor should you." 

Both Alana and Margot froze at the voice, neither wanting to turn around, their hands tight in the grips they had on each other

"Hello Margot, Alana," the accented voice continued. "Morgan looks like he's doing well." 

"How long have you been there, Dr. Lecter?" Margot turned around and stared at the man who didn't look anything like how she had expected to see him. 

No suit, no tie, no slicked back hair. No shiny shoes and a tall, strong stride. Nothing that would place this man as Hannibal Lecter. 

Instead she found a man, using the doorway as a crush, one leg favored over the other. Hair was messy and in his face, needing to be combed. He had a cut across his forehead that was underlined with a bruise. 

His immaculately pressed suit was replaced with jeans and an old beat up, second hand coat that wasn't warm enough for the winter and a pair of hiking boots.

"There's no need for such formalities," the man said, head resting against the door frame, tongue flicking out to try to wet his chapped and dry lips. “And long enough to hear that Will doesn’t remember me. It is a shame, isn’t it?” 

Margot tipped her head to the side with a small smile covering her lips. “You look a little run down, Hannibal.” 

Alana rose from her chair at those words to take in the killer, ready for all of his glory, but was met with a mortally wounded Ares instead of the steadfast Hades she had come to see him as. Though he didn’t need the ego stroke of being compared to the ruler of the underworld. Instead he looked like he desperately needed some water and to sit down. So human after all. 

“I wasn’t the only person who rejected and abandoned him, why should he pick me to forget?” Hannibal continued on, ignoring Margot’s comment. 

Before Margot could stop Alana, not that she really wanted to, Alana stepped up to Hannibal, heels clicking on the hardwood, hand connecting to his face with a loud echoing smack. Margot stared as Hannibal simply returned Alana’s cold gaze, his cheek no longer wind whipped red, now a deep pink from Alana’s slap. 

“You broke your promise,” Alana hissed, raising her hand once more. Hannibal didn’t so much as wince as he allowed the hand to assault his face once more. He stumbled over, arms clinging to the door frame for support, only to the sink to the floor, utterly spent. “You promised me you would keep him safe. You abandoned him.” 

“I did not,” Hannibal argued, voice collected as ever, though scratchy from need of water. “As you said...” He breathed deeply, arm circling around his middle with a wince. “I promised to keep him safe. He is safe, isn’t he?” Alana watched curiously as his knees pulled in closer to his chest as if he were trying to sink into the fetal position, but whatever was wrong with him wouldn’t allow it. 

“How is he safe?” Alana questioned, lowering herself to her knees, ignoring the way her knees creaked from injuries she had received from being pushed out of a window. 

“I couldn’t take care of him anymore. If you read my notes, then that should have been quite clear to you.” Hannibal exhaled deeply through his nose, skin now pale and sweat glistening on his brow. “I got him the medical help he needed. Medical help I could not provide.” 

“What happened to you Hannibal?” Margot asked, interest winning out over wanting to be cold as stone. “What happened to our Achilles?” 

“I’m afraid Paris’ arrow has found its mark.” Hannibal gave a weak smile, his other arm now clutching around his center as well. 

“He needs medical help,” Alana said into the room as if it weren’t obvious, but there was nothing in her tone to offer that she was suggesting they help him. Just a simple fact said in a simple voice. 

“He will kill you when he’s better,” Margot reminded, stepping closer to the man who was now more mouse than monster. “Did you come to keep your promise, Hannibal?” 

“Not today,” he gasped out, looking sickly green. His breathing was fast now as both Alana and Margot looked on just to see what would happen. After all, wouldn’t that be exactly what Hannibal would have done if their positions had been switched? 

“So you came to us for help?” Alana asked, lips pursed in mock interest. 

The nausea clawed at his throat, and he tried to force down the bile, but it was too late. His stomach contracted so violently that his hands went out to catch himself against the hardwood. His stomach empties out onto the expensive floor, dark and looking of coffee grounds. 

“Internal bleeding,” Alana mused, unconcerned as she watched Hannibal get sick again. The power trip was odd, but not unwelcome. For once she wasn’t under his thumb. For once she was on top and he would have to take whatever she offered him, if she felt like offering him anything at all. “Your organs could be shutting down. A little ironic, don’t you think?” 

“Poetic,” Hannibal answered, wiping at his mouth, throat raw. “And yes, Alana. I need your help.” 

Margot tipped her head to the side, folding her arms over her chest and ignoring the smell of death that had filled the room from Hannibal’s expulsion. “We could end it all now. Let him die in the study.” 

“It would make everything so much easier,” Alana agreed with a nod, watching Hannibal’s face pale once more as he gasped for air in hopes of relieving the nausea. “Jack could sleep again at night. We would be safe and wouldn’t have to move again. And Will would be free of your toxic grip.” Hannibal gave a small smile at the repulsive idea before his stomach purged itself again. “Such sweet sentiments.” Alana sighed with a frown. “Margot, call Dr. Jeffries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Necessita c'induce, e non diletto- Necessity leads us, and not delight


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay with me Dr. Lecter. I want you to be present through this whole procedure. It’s only fair after what you did to my brother. Not to mention, won’t it be fun to see the inside of your knee after I’m done with your guts?” 
> 
> “The utmost.” 

* * *

“You look familiar,” Hannibal noted aloud as one Dr. Liam Jefferies entered the room, looking over Hannibal with amused eyes and smile. 

“It’ll come to you,” the man assured, steeping further into the room. He didn’t look like a doctor. Maybe a back alley gangster, but not a doctor. He pulled up a chair and sat across the expansive dining table from Hannibal, whose face was washed out and peaky. “Dr. Bloom said you have some internal bleeding. We’ll have to check that out. If you don’t mind, I would much rather skip the unneeded testing and just open you up.” 

“I prefer that my hands are the only ones that work on me,” Hannibal muttered, glancing around to where both Margot and Alana were standing behind the doctor, silently listening. “But it seems that at the moment I am unable to.” 

“Figured it out yet?” Jefferies questioned, head cocking to the side, his smirk still delighted, eyes looking hungry. Hannibal inhaled deeply, eyes intently on the man. There was something about his wide face and cheek structure that still placed him as familiar, but with the nausea that was molesting his senses, he still couldn’t bring anything to mind. “No matter.” Liam rose to his feet and moved around the table, hand going to Hannibal’s head. “Fever. What caused the bleeding?” Liam pulled a light from his pocket and flickered it on into Hannibal’s eyes. 

“About two months ago I got shot,” Hannibal explained, catching Alana’s curiosity. “It was through and through, but it caused a lot of bleeding and I had to stuff the wound. It was too large for me to stitch it.” 

“And you didn’t go to a hospital,” Liam added with a nod. “Not that I can blame you, Dr. Lecter. If I were in your shoes, I would avoid all medical facilities as well.” The light was thankfully returned to Liam’s pocket and Liam picked up Hannibal’s wrist, fingers pressing there to take his pulse. 

“Before I was able to operate, I took a tumble into the ocean,” Hannibal continued, looking over to Alana who had moved closer to the dining table with interest in her features. “I may not have cleaned it well enough. I thought I was fine until a friend and I got into a fight. He punched the wound. I didn’t think much of it, but he must have ruptured something.” 

“And is this,” Liam tapped at the healing cut on Hannibal’s head, ignoring the annoyed look from Hannibal, “from that tumble into the ocean.” 

Hannibal shook his head and immediately regretted the movement. It made his head spin and with a cough, giving Liam enough time to step back, Hannibal emptied his stomach again into a small trash can that Margot had fetched him. 

“I got hit by a car.” 

“That would explain the leg,” Alana said, speaking for the first time in several hours. 

“I can take a look at that as well, if you would like Dr. Lecter,” Liam offered. “Though I can’t promise it will be as good as new. I might rearrange a few things.” 

Hannibal inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the unwelcome taste in his mouth as the answer finally clicked into place at the threat. He gave a small chuckle. “You must be Cordell’s brother,” he said breathlessly. “The last name?” 

“Half-brother, on my mom’s side,” Liam replied with a small nod, fingers tapping on the wooden tabletop. “You tore off his face.” 

A smile came to Hannibal’s lips. “He was trying to take a friend's face. I only returned the favor.” 

“Let’s get you into surgery, Dr. Lecter.” Liam gave a smile as he straightened himself up. “It will be a pleasure to open you up and see all of the darkness collected inside.” 

“I would like to be awake during the procedure, if you don’t mind,” Hannibal muttered. “We have to make sure you don’t get too carried away, don’t we?” 

* * *

“Would you like a drink?” Molly asked sweetly as she swept into the kitchen from her morning run, the dogs racing into the house and going to their beds or chasing each other out of the room. Will gave her a confused smile. “It’s Saturday, you do not have to work and I would love to have a nice day with you with a drink. Don’t give me that disapproving look.” 

“I’m not disapproving,” Will answered with a small chuckle, closing his laptop that he was busy setting up another PowerPoint on for class. “A drink would be nice.” 

“Whiskey?” Molly questioned, heading over to their small bar. 

“Wine,” Will replied, causing Molly to pause with a small frown, her chest contracting tightly. 

“You don’t like wine,” Molly reminded gently, something dark swirling through her lungs. Jealousy maybe? _How ridiculous_ , she chided herself. _He doesn’t remember him_ _._

“Been in the mood for that lately. Not sure why,” Will offered, getting to his feet and moving over to the bar, taking Molly’s hands in his and calling her unnaturally blank face to look at his. His eyes avoided hers though, they never met hers. Stayed on the bridge of her nose. It was the best way he had found to look at people without them thinking he was being unsociable. “Is everything alright?” He placed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Fine,” she answered, a smile lighting up her lips, but not reaching her eyes. “One glass of wine coming up.” 

Will gave a small nod, a wall between them that he couldn't seem to climb. He let her go and went back to the couch. 

Izzy raced over to him and nuzzled at his leg until he reached out to scratch her head. "She seems to be doing better," he commented. "She's sweet." 

"To you," Molly laughed, coming over to the couch and handing Will his glass of wine, keeping Will between her and Izzy. "She doesn't like me much." Molly sat on the couch, her own glass of wine in hand, leaning against Will. 

"She's a good girl," Will muttered, pushing Izzy down as she tried to lick at his face. "Very well trained." 

"That was all you darling," Molly assured, a careful hand reaching out towards Izzy. The dog gave a low growl and Molly pulled her hand back with a sigh. 

"Hey," Will grumbled, pulling Izzy's face to look at him. "No." He pushed Izzy away who simply laid down on the floor by his feet with a small whine. 

Will took a small sip of the wine, the fruitiness getting trapped in his throat with a familiar burn that made him want to close his eyes and try to place where it had come from, but Molly kept talking. 

"How are your classes going? I'm sorry I haven't asked." Molly took a sip of her own wine, her head resting against Will's shoulder. 

"It's been nice to have something normal for me to do," Will admitted. "A chance to get out of the house, do something I enjoy, not have to be sociable."

"How are you not sociable?" Molly asked curiously. 

"I talk at them, not to them. They don't ask questions." Will gave a shrug with a small smile. "I don't know. It's just... Nice." 

"As long as Jack is leaving you alone." 

Will winced at this as he took another drink of his wine. "I've only seen him a handful of times. I say no, he leaves. No pushing," Will explained. It wasn't a lie. Jack had been ambushing him after nearly every class, but Will was just as much at fault. He had been searching Jack out, unable to keep the morbid from his system. It was a drug, something normal. The only thing that really, if he was deeply honest with himself, felt authentically real. 

"As long as he doesn't involve you. You don't need that much conflict in your life." Molly's hand twisted with Will's, fingers intertwined with his. He glanced down at the grip, it feeling odd to have his fingers in this specific spaces. He was certain that his fingers had been... Encircled by larger, dangerous hands. 

He quickly shook his head dismissing the ridiculous idea. "Molly, I have an odd question." Molly glanced up from her husband's shoulder and waited. "Have I ever been to Italy?" 

Molly was quiet and Will couldn't help but note that it was a fraction longer than a normal silence. 

"No," she replied. "Why? Were you wanting to go?" 

"No," Will mused. "I just thought that..." Will trailed off and could see Molly bite her lip. Will frowned. Her tell. From the day he had met her, he knew her tell, knew when she was lying. But he didn't broach the subject. He let it go. "Never mind," he whispered, finishing off his wine and getting up. Izzy jumped up and followed him to the kitchen where he began to wash the glass. “I think I’m going to go fishing,” Will muttered as he set the glass aside to dry. 

“Alright,” Molly whispered softly, finger trailing the rim of her glass. “Will, you know you can tell me anything you need to, right? I’m here for you.” 

“I know,” Will answered with a small nod, hands taking the edge of the sink as he looked out the window at the snowy wasteland he was starting to grow tired of. It wasn’t quite as magical anymore, though he couldn’t exactly place who had made it magical. What, not who. 

“And make sure you’re not out too late. I know you like to lose track of time, but we’re having Danny’s parents over for dinner.” 

“That sounds a little dark, don’t you think?” Will said, the words slipping from his mouth before he had a chance to contemplate them. He wasn’t even sure where he had come up with that notion. Maybe he had been far too focused on the Chesapeake Ripper for his own good. Will rubbed at his chin and sighed, not daring to see what Molly’s expression was. “I’ll be back before dinner.” 

* * *

“You never did get to teach me,” a light voice said, pulling Will from his concentration. 

Will tore his eyes from his pole and to the snowy river banks where Abigail was standing, in a pair of wader pants and a winter coat, long auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stepped into the icy water and Will could feel her inhale from the temperature. Just because the waders made you dry that didn’t mean that they kept out the cold. She came to stand beside Will, arms circled around herself to block out the chill.

“You’re not real,” he reminded absently, flicking his wrist to cast once more. 

“It’s winter,” Abigail pointed out, looking around them at the icy that floated by and then up at the darkly greying clouds that were going to dump more snow in a few hours' time. “Don’t fish sleep or something during the winter?” 

Will felt a smile pull at his lips, scar giving a prickling twinge. “Fish don’t hibernate.” 

Abigail gave him a dirty look and stuck out her tongue. “I know that,” she grumbled. “But it’s cold. Don’t they do something?” 

“Their metabolism slows down,” Will explained, shrugging a bit. “They do not need to eat as much, so they are much harder to catch. Makes the reward all the sweeter.” 

“Will you teach me, dad?” 

Will opened his mouth to argue, but found himself unable to. It was so routine now, so common, so easy, so natural to hear her call him that name. He couldn’t fight her anymore. And it felt good, especially with how much Wally was ignoring him. Maybe this was his substitution for being pushed aside by his stepson. 

“Come here,” Will instructed, nodding his head at the girl. He held out his pole to her, letting her grasp it in pale hands. “Make sure your finger keeps hold of this line. Don’t let it go.” Once Abigail had a firm grip on the pole, Will stepped behind her to get on her other side. “Your father never taught you how?” 

“You are my father and no,” Abigail replied with a shrug. “He liked to hunt. But they’re the same. One you stalk, the other you lure.” 

Will frowned in dislike at the comparison. He had never much cared for hunting. His father had made him learn, but he never had a stomach for pulling the trigger. “One you catch, the other you shoot,” he corrected, 

“And what are you trying to catch?” she asked, letting Will pull out more of the line for her. 

Will was very quiet as he thought, an answer coming to his mind, though he was unsure where it had come from and what it meant. “The one who caught you.” He caught Abigail reaching for the scar at her neck out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t acknowledge the movement. 

“The one that got away,” she said softly with a nod. “The one who keeps getting away.” 

“Catch a fish once and it gets away, it’s a lot harder to catch again.” 

Rehearsed. That’s how the words felt coming out of his mouth. That’s how all of his actions felt now. Rehearsed, reused, repeated. Over and over and over again, _deja vu_ seeped into every atom of his body, constantly wanting to be recognized, but pushed aside. 

Will rested his hand on Abigail’s and they both shared a smile with a small laugh. 

“Do you remember the one who got away?” she asked softly, her smile falling. 

“That’s why I have to catch him.” Will gave a firm nod, unsure where the sentiment came from, but he believed it. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be remembering, but he would keep pushing until he did. Anything for Abigail, even if she didn’t exist... She was more than real to Will and that’s all that mattered. 

“Last thing, before casting a line,” Will said, attention back on his teaching lesson, “name the bait on your hook after somebody you cherished.” 

“To say goodbye?” Abigail questioned, looking up to meet Will’s gaze as he stepped back so that Abigail had enough room to cast. 

“The person you name it after cherished you, as the superstition goes, you will catch the fish,” Will explained with a smile at the girl. 

“And what did you name it?” Abigail questioned, pulling back the pole to cast the line. 

“Hannibal.” 

* * *

Hannibal winced as the scalpel pressed into his skin with a smokiness as it cut. Hannibal’s hands clutched to the sides of the table he was on, making sure he didn’t move. “Exploratory laparotomy?” he gasped out, closing his eyes tightly to stop the room from spinning. He was not new to pain, but with no drugs to help calm his mind, it wandered over every delicious step that was going to be taken and the marks that it would be leaving when Liam was finished. 

“I should have asked you before we began,” Liam said with a faint smile to his voice. “Are there any medications that you are currently taking or do you have any allergies that I should know about?” 

Hannibal gave a laugh, listening intently to the abdominal retractor being pulled apart. The metal was cold as it was placed against his skin to hold open the incision that was made. Bold and unrelenting. The pain threatened to blacken the edges of Hannibal’s vision, but he pushed through it, forcing his eyes to stay open, himself to stay conscious. 

“Well, Dr. Lecter. It looks like you have an infection from getting shot, which is no surprise,” Liam stated, reaching a single finger inside of the monster. Hannibal tried to ignore the foreign object. “No black goo, though.” There was a dramatic sigh. “Such a disappointment.” There was the clanking of some more tools and Hannibal could feel it getting harder to keep his eyes open. “You have gastrointestinal bleeding as well. It’s going to be a bitch to clean up, but I’m sure I can manage.” 

Liam straightened himself back up and looked over Hannibal’s paling face with a small laugh. “You’re not giving up on me yet, are you doctor?” Liam moved to where he already set up an IV drip for a blood transfusion. “We still haven’t reached the best part yet.” 

“And which part would that be?” Hannibal asked, head tipping to the side to watch as Liam got the IV ready to push into Hannibal’s arm. Liam taped it off and moved back to the open cavity in the killer. 

“The part where I rearrange you.” 

Hannibal gave another weak laugh, hands feeling numb and fingers tingling. “Your brother was just as humorous,” he muttered out as a pure, intense, and brilliant pain painted his torso, things that did not belong there being inserted, medical tools touching parts of him that never should have been touched. “He had planned a meal for each of my limbs.” 

“I doubt you would taste as sweet as you think you would,” Liam countered, his voice dimmed in Hannibal’s ears. There was a sharp slap to his face and his eyes opened, Hannibal certain that he hadn’t given himself permission to close his eyes. “Stay with me Dr. Lecter. I want you to be present through this whole procedure. It’s only fair after what you did to my brother. Not to mention, won’t it be fun to see the inside of your knee after I’m done with your guts?” 

“The utmost.” 

* * *

Will trudged his way back up to the house with both Abigail’s and his own catch slung over his shoulder on the stringer. He crossed the street and stopped at a car he didn’t recognize in the driveway. He paused for a moment before his eyes widened and he swore softly, hurrying up and into the house. He pushed open the front door and could hear pleasant chatter from three voices and yelling at a TV from two younger ones who were obviously playing video games. 

He closed the door behind him and made his way into the house, entering the kitchen where Molly and two men stood, each with a glass of wine while Molly was checking whatever was cooking in the oven. 

The taller of the two men had thick dark hair, broad shoulders and a muscled physique. Will could tell that he worked out religiously. Will felt like he kept himself in good enough shape, but this man was chiseled like a god. He was vain. Looks were the most important thing to him. Carefully kept beard, manicured nails. God, Will wished he didn’t have to know, didn’t see. He didn’t like seeing the flaws. 

The shorter of the two was a much smaller frame, maybe a swimmer. Lean with bright red hair that nearly reminded him of Freddie Lounds. Where had she been? He hadn’t heard from her in a while. The man was a laborer, something in construction by the way his hands were calloused and cracking, not meant to hold a wine glass, while his friend screamed high class. Champagne and parties, beer and frozen pizza on lonely nights. 

“Oh, you’re back!” Molly said happily, closing the oven and going over to place a kiss to Will’s cheek. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Will, I’m sure you remember Jordan and Casey.” 

Will racked his brain for the names and faces, but there was nothing. No folder, no file, no book in his library. But there was a room. An oddly empty room in his mind. One where a person seemed to be missing. 

“Jordan and Casey,” Will said with a smile and a nod. That room could be explored later. Right now he needed all of his attention to be a good host. “With the boat.” He closed his eyes as the words left his mouth and silently scolded himself. He knew better. He knew how normal people spoke, he just sometimes couldn’t make himself play the part. 

The two men laughed lightly and Will opened his eyes to find smiles. “At least you seem to remember that,” the larger one said with a smile, a thick accent coating the words. European. He smelt at his wine before taking a sip, a motion that Will was certain he had watched someone perform before. Maybe they had met previously. “Your wife told us that you were in the hospital for a few days after being attacked.” 

“FBI,” the other continued on with a slight southern drawl that was not unlike Will’s. One that was hidden away as best as it could be so he didn’t sound weird while being up north. “I guess it’s as dangerous as they make it out to be on the TV.” 

“You have no idea,” Will answered softly. Molly gave his arm a squeeze and he glanced down at her. 

“Why don’t you go take care of the fish and get changed and dinner should be ready by then,” she said with a guiding push. 

Will gave a small nod, realizing he was still carrying all of his fishing gear and his catch. “I will be back in a few moments.” 

“Do you hunt, Will?” the thick accent asked. 

“I don’t have the stomach for it,” Will answered kindly, shifting the several fish on his shoulder where the stringer was beginning to dig into him. 

“Shame,” he pressed on. “We have a lovely lodge and wonderful access to deer.” 

“I problem solve,” Will explained. “Problem solving is hunting. It's a savage pleasure and we're born to it.” Will paused in his words, the quote repeating in his mind. They weren’t his words. They belonged to someone else. Who? 

There was a silence around the room and Molly quickly picked everything back up. “Dear, go take care of the fish.” 

Will gave a small nod and left the kitchen, heading back outside to his shed. He placed the fish onto the gutting table and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. Why was he so weird? Why couldn’t he just hold a normal conversation? Why couldn’t he just be normal? For once in his life, he just wanted to be... seen. Seen as himself. Not have to try to hide, not have to try to blend in, not have to wear his carefully made mask that had chips and cracks in it from years of weathering. 

The funny thing was, was that Will was certain he had had that at one point or another. And maybe it had been Molly at one time, but not now. He felt like he had to keep his fort up around her now too. But somewhere in his past there was someone. Someone with a kind smile and a good ear for listening, a wicked tongue to play back with him. To tease and pull and push and prod. Eyes brave enough to see Will and Will brave enough to see back. 

With fish cleaned and now in the freezer and hands washed clean of blood, Will made his way back into the house, hitting the stairs to change before Molly had a chance to spot him. He pulled on his more formal looking clothing, what he wore to teach, because he didn’t own anything much nicer, and then went to the bathroom, taking a wet comb through his hair in an attempt to tame his curls as some semblance normalcy. 

Will turned to leave the bathroom, hand reaching out for the light, but stopped between the doorway to the bathroom and his bedroom. He stared as a large black stage stepped around his bed, feathers covering his body in place of any fur. 

_“Garret Jacob Hobbs. FBI!”_

Will winced, hand jumping to his head at a pulsing pain. He blinked several times and found himself alone once more. He clenched his teeth with a sharp inhale, trying to push the pain away and left the room. The ravenstag was just another manifestation from his mind. Another thing to add to Abigail, the seductive accented voice, and the wendigo that haunted his waking moments and his dreams. He just had to ignore it. It was all in his mind. God, he was crazy, wasn’t he? 

The name clung to his skin as he made his way down to his guests that he had never wanted. He would have pushed the name away if another voice had said it, but the fact that his own voice yelled it in his head, he couldn’t hide it away. His own voice had given him the name. It had to mean something. 

“What?” Will asked, looking up from his plate of food at a hand on his arm. His eyes flickered around the room to each person who was staring at him. His eyes dropped down to his plate of lasagna that he didn’t remember plating for himself. The two younger boys laughed and quickly returned to their own conversation, Molly frowning. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again?” 

“They wanted to know what you did for the FBI,” Molly answered, fork cutting into the layers of pasta. 

“This and that,” Will replied, hurriedly eating a bite. He didn’t want to get into it. He didn’t like talking about himself. There was too much for people to take apart, too much that they wouldn’t like. “Teach, mostly.” 

“Were you attacked by a student?” Casey, the redhead that now had a name somehow, asked curiously, eyes alight with the need to know. 

“No,” Will replied with a small shake of his head. He wasn’t sure how he knew that was wrong when he couldn’t even remember being attacked at all. “I was following a lead for a case.” 

“Which case?” Jordan, yes that one was Jordan, asked, just as curious as his husband. 

Or Will just assumed they were married. They both had rings and they were obviously the guardians of Danny, a little red headed boy that had somehow befriended Wally. Not that Wally couldn’t have friends... What was wrong with him tonight? He just wanted to be back at that river talking nonsense with Abigail. Stay hidden behind his metaphors. 

“I was working on the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will replied, taking another bite of his food, not enjoying the taste of it much anymore. It was missing something. The meat was wrong. Hamburger instead of sausage. But where had he ever eaten lasagna with ground sausage and not hamburger? 

There was silence and Will pulled his eyes from his plate to see two stunned faces and Molly with a disappointed furrow in her brows, clearly not thinking this was a conversation for the dinner table. 

“Did you find him then?” Casey asked excitedly with a smile. Will blinked, taken aback. “Who else would have attacked you? You’re so lucky he didn’t take any organs from you. You must have been close!” 

There was a nervous, apologetic laugh from Jordan, his hand reaching out to take his husbands in a silent warning. “Forgive him,” Jordan said, a fake smile plastered on his lips. “My husband is into the macabre. He finds those types of things very interesting, but I am sure you see more than enough of it on a daily basis, Will. It’s probably something he doesn’t want to discuss over dinner.” 

Will tipped his head to the side, looking over the two carefully, eyes narrowing. Something was familiar about them. Something he couldn't quite place, but he pushed it aside, sure it was the fact that he had met them before and just couldn’t remember. But that didn’t feel quite right. There was a knot in his chest. 

“Russian?” Will asked, fork hand now propping up his chin, curious if the man would correct him or not. 

“Polish,” Jordan replied. 

Will gave a nod, eyes turning to Casey, focused on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. “There is nothing wrong with enjoying the macabre. Finding comfort in death can be freeing. It is, after all, the only thing that creates us all equal in the end.” 

Once more the words weren’t his. They belonged to someone else, but they slipped from his mouth so naturally. They were so easy to say, so easy to channel. Someone else he could play so he wasn’t himself. Someone well off, someone powerful, someone confident and very much in control. 

There was a roaring laugh from Jordan that caused Will to jump. “It looks like you’ve found a friend, _ukochany_.” 

Will tipped his head curiously at the endearment. There was something so familiar about the way it was said. Why was everything so foggy and familiar? Why couldn’t he wrap his head around what it was? It was going to be the death of him. It was driving him a little insane to sit here and watch these two and see himself as them. Or at least as Casey. He could never be Jordan, but he could imagine being Jordan. And maybe he was pulling from Jordan to keep himself strong, after all, that’s what he was good at. 

“I know where I’ve seen you before,” Casey said, pulling Will from his thoughts. “Will Graham. I thought the name was familiar, you’re on Tattle-Crime. Weren’t you the one who they tried as being the Chesapeake Ripper?” 

Will’s eyes widened and he found himself at a loss for words. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw Jordan frown, casting a dark look over at his husband. Molly coughed on her wine and wiped at her chin with her napkin. 

“That’s enough,” Jordan ordered harshly. 

“What?” Will breathed out, looking over to Molly. 

She shook her head and rose to her feet. “I think that’s enough of that conversation,” she said, voice a little raspy from choking on her drink. “Is everyone ready for dessert?” She took her plate and quickly snatched up Will’s before he had the thought to say he wasn’t finished. 

“Dessert!” the kids both said excitedly. 

Will bit his tongue as the pulsing in his mind got worse. “I’m going to get some aspirin,” he announced, getting from the table and heading towards the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and searched the cabinet, pulling out the bottle and downing two of the small white pills. 

_“Let me tell you the story of a mild-mannered FBI instructor who was asked to create a psychological profile of a murderer,” a woman’s voice said, Marion Vega. “Garret Jacob Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike, killed young women who looked just like his daughter. He killed them and he ate them.”_

There was that name again. Hobbs. Abigail’s last name. 

_“Will Graham understood how Garret Jacob Hobbs thought, which is how he caught him. Shot Hobbs dead as he cut his daughter's throat. Will Graham saved Abigail Hobbs's life.”_

That would explain the scar across the girl’s neck. 

_“But this profile he created of her father was so vivid, he couldn't escape it. In an unconscious state, he killed three more young women. Cassie Boyle.”_

Will’s hands gripped the sink as his knees weakened at the sight of a young girl in the middle of a field, mounted on deer antlers, swarmed by crows. 

_“Marissa Schuur.”_

There was a painful twinge in his temple at the flashing image of a young woman hung up on several pairs of deer antlers as if she were a coat on a coat rack. 

_“And Abigail Hobbs. Mr. Graham saved her from her father, but couldn't save her from himself. He killed her and ate her. At the very least, we know he ate her ear.”_

Will’s stomach churned dangerously and he turned on the faucet, using his hand to suck down the cold water in an attempt to steady himself, but it didn’t ground him. His jaw tingled and saliva pooled in his mouth until he emptied his stomach into the sink.

His eyes widened as an ear tumbled from his lips, studded earring glittering wickedly in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Will stumbled back and away from the sink that was no longer running with water, but with thick blood. His fingers stretched out across the wall at his back as if that would help ground him. 

_“What he did with the rest of her is locked away in the recesses of Will Graham's traumatized mind, or so he would have you believe. Something else you should know about Will Graham. He's an eideteker. He has a remarkable visual memory. He is keenly insightful to the human condition and I would argue, the smartest person in this room. Capable of creating a psychological profile of a different kind of killer, one that would become his alibi.”_

“Will, are you alright?” There was a knock at the bathroom door and Will blinked, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair was stuck to his skin with sweat and his breathing was battered. 

“Fine,” he choked out, a vile taste in his mouth. “Aspirin went down wrong.” It was a weak excuse, but he wasn’t sure what else to give Molly as an answer. 

“Alright,” Molly said through the door. “Dessert is on the table.” 

“I will be there in a moment,” Will assured, moving over to the sink that now was only running clear water and was empty. He turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his clammy, pale skin, breathing hard. 

He left the bathroom and went for the stairs without a word, ignoring the looks that were given to him from the group at the table. He closed his bedroom door behind him and found where his laptop was on the bed. He opened it and quickly typed Tattle-crime.com into the search bar. It took a moment to load and Will starred as he was greeted with a large red exclamation mark and the words stating that the website had been blocked. 

He gave a confused look and deleted the search, typing in the name Garret Jacob Hobbs. Blocked. Minnesota Shrike. Blocked. Cassie Boyle, Marissa Schuur. Blocked. Abigail Hobbs. Blocked. 

“She just wants to protect you,” a gentle voice said behind Will. Will jumped as if he had been burned and looked up to find Abigail with her arms folded over her chest in a beautiful flowery dress. She liked dresses. “Don’t be mad at her.” 

Will shook his head, licking at his lips. “You’re real.” 

“Mostly,” she answered with a nod. 

“You’re dead,” Will gasped out. “And I killed you, didn’t I?” 

“No, Dad. You didn’t,” Abigail answered with a reassuring tone. “I told you, you were the one who tried to protect me.” 

Will looked back at the computer screen and quickly typed in the name that had been plaguing him. The name he had called his lure without a reason as to why. Doctor Hannibal Lecter. 

Blocked. 

* * *

The right angle clamp was cold as it was used to pull open another scalpel cut that had been added to just below Hannibal’s knee and had momentarily had a finger digging into it. Hannibal’s eyes closed tightly at the strange sensation, something else in his body that shouldn’t be there. 

“It looks like you’ve torn both your meniscus and your ACL,” Liam stated, eyes flickering up to the still surprisingly conscious Hannibal who was, at the moment, holding an ice pack to the staples that were in his stomach to keep the swelling down. Liam admired Dr. Lecter’s determination to stay awake and be mentally sound with no pain killers. Lecter was an unusual man and he could see what the late Mr. Verger liked about him, or more accurately, didn’t like about him. Hannibal shuddered as something was pushed into his leg and moved about, most likely a camera. “I can repair the meniscus, but I believe that we will have to split your hamstring for the ACL. You’ve done a number on it. It's shredded to pieces.” 

“I did walk the good portion of 160 miles,” Hannibal whispered, voice having been faint for quite a while. 

“That would do it,” Liam agreed with a nod of his head. “I will need your help on this one, Dr. Lecter. You’ll have to hold the scopes steady so that I can work. I, unfortunately, only have two hands.” 

“You’re doing this microscopically?” Hannibal questioned curiously, hand reaching out to take the long handle on the scope that was in his knee, able to feel the change of grip deep inside of himself. “I thought you would have wanted to leave your mark on me, Dr. Jefferies.” 

“I had my fun with your previous surgery. I am not as cruel as my brother,” he explained as he messed around with a few other tools that he had laid out at his workstation. “You will have a dashing scar down your center though. I made sure of that. Something to remember me by.” 

Hannibal snorted, unable to find the strength to give a full laugh as the room spun dangerously. It had been hours. Hours of continuous pain that was no longer delicious like a glass of fine wine. It was annoying now. A fly that needed to be swatted. But Hannibal didn’t fight, didn’t ask for any relief. Trust was not something he gave freely and due to the personal connection he had with Liam, he wasn’t about to give it to the man. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Hannibal muttered, mouth dry. Liam stepped around him, checking the IVs that he had going to make sure that they were still filled enough and administering exactly what Hannibal needed to stay awake. 

“You are able to stand a great deal of pain, Dr. Lecter,” Liam commented as he went back to wipe at the blood on Hannibal’s leg to make sure he could see what he was working on. “How did you come about this?” 

“I’ve always had a high tolerance,” Hannibal explained, head leaning back in the chair he was now in, eyes closing as he tried to keep his breathing steady, Liam’s fingers back at his knee. “I suspect it is due from my childhood and the trauma I experienced then. Regular exposure to painful stimuli can increase one's pain tolerance.”

“And were those stimuli forced upon you or self-inflicted?” 

Hannibal felt a smile pull at his lips at a pull on something inside of his leg that he could sense all the way down to his foot, causing his toes to twitch. “More mental abuse than physical.” Hannibal’s teeth latched onto his lip at a searing sensation. “But a mixture of both if I am going to be honest with you.” 

“How polite of you to humor me, Dr. Lecter.” 

“It is a wise thing to be polite; consequently, it is a stupid thing to be rude.”

“To make enemies by unnecessary and willful incivility, is just as insane a proceeding as to set your house on fire,” Liam finished for Hannibal as the man trailed off. “Arthur Schopenhauer. Are you ever rude, Dr. Lecter?” 

“I eat the rude.”

“And what of Will Graham?” Liam asked with no cautiousness to his voice whatsoever. “I have been informed he is quite rude when the time allows.” 

“He is no more rude than I am God,” Hannibal defended, looking down at Liam with a frown. “His mind is different. He does not process or act in the same way as society would have him be. It is in no way his fault what slips from his mouth. It is not intentional. He never has ill intentions.” 

“You speak very highly of him, Dr. Lecter.” 

“I hold him very highly,” Hannibal agreed, letting his head rest back again, spots dancing across his vision as he held on a little longer. “I love beautiful things. Beautiful food, beautiful minds, beautiful people... I have been intrigued with both Will’s mind and beauty since the moment I met him, and in that moment I worshiped him immediately and have been unable to stop since.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the lake’s edge stood Abigail, barefoot and in a flowing floral sundress, skipping rocks across the lake’s surface. Hannibal watched with a faint smile as she picked up a rock, skipped it and then reached for another over and over again. 
> 
> “She looks happy,” Will muttered above Hannibal. Hannibal gave a small nod, closing his eyes, letting the sun sink into his pale skin. “We don’t go out often enough. She doesn’t deserve to be cooped up in that house all day.”

* * *

“Why don’t you boys go run and get ready for bed?” Molly suggested as she washed off the dishes to put into the dishwasher. 

Danny, who was once again spending the night, and Wally raced up the stairs and once they had disappeared, Will felt trepidation fall over the room. He did his best to ignore the feeling as he brought the last of the dishes from dessert over to the counter for Molly to do. 

“I’m going to let the dogs out,” Will announced as he left the room. He could hear Molly’s footsteps behind him, but he ignored them as he let the dogs out of their kennels where they had been put for the duration of the time the guests were here. He opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck, allowing the dogs to go down the stairs and out into the yard that was more muddy with slush than with snow from being tracked everywhere by the dogs. Molly was once more behind him and he felt his body tense up at the presence. 

“Did you want to talk about dinner?” she asked. 

“Not really, no,” Will answered, leaning against the railing, watching the dogs play in the snow that glittered in the moonlight. “They were nice, Danny is a good boy, that should be enough.” 

“There’s really nothing you want to ask me or talk about?” Molly tried again, a hint of an apology in her voice that Will couldn’t help but push away. 

He didn’t want an apology. He didn’t want to have to ask and beg for the truth from his wife. He wanted her to be honest with him outright. If she couldn’t be, then he really didn’t want to talk to her. 

“No,” he said once more, _ssking_ as several of the dogs started to fight. They quickly broke apart at the order. 

“Will-”

“I would like to be alone,” Will stated firmly, head lowering onto his folded arms over the railing of the deck, breath warm on his forearms. 

There wasn’t an answer, just footsteps fading into the house and a door closing behind him. This was all so fucked up. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to think, wasn’t sure how to feel, the years upon years of others’ emotions washing over him and fighting for a voice. 

“See?” 

Will looked up at the voice, glancing around until he was met with piercing white eyes in a pale face that was darkened with black veins. Bullet wounds lined the man’s torso, decent shots, but not nearly accurate enough to take the man down quickly. 

“See?” he asked again, voice low and airy. 

Will stood fully upright and took a step back as the zombie-esque man took a shaky step forward, body unstable in its movement, but somehow staying upright. Will’s foot hit the edge of a shovel and he tumbled backwards, onto the snow covered deck, eyes wide as the man continued forward, unrelenting. 

“See?” he demanded. 

“See what?” Will asked, breathing hard as he scrambled through the snow to get back to his feet. “What am I supposed to see?” 

“See?” 

* * *

“Will?” Jack asked curiously as he entered Will’s empty classroom. The light had been on and the door open, as if it were an invitation. 

Will sat at his desk, head in his hands, not looking up at his name. He was breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling with the effort. Jack gave a curious look and stepped closer, hand resting on the desk that was littered with files and pictures. Pictures that Jack knew all too well. 

“Will?” he asked again. The man jumped with a large inhale and blinked, eyes slowly focusing on Jack. “You don’t have a class today, what are you doing here?” 

“Can’t be at home,” he replied brokenly, still not fully present, eyes haunted and dancing around the room as if he were searching for something. “Molly won’t tell me anything.” 

“Where did you get these files, Will?” Jack questioned, holding back the anger that was rising in his chest. Will was going to get them both in trouble. 

“I stole them from your office.” Will’s face turned sour with a frown. “They should make better locks if these are official case files and not yet fully made public.” 

“When did you go-” Jack broke off with a deep sigh, Will echoing his words. “When I went to make copies-”

“-You went to make copies.” 

Will got to his feet, rubbing at his face with both hands, before sitting partly on the desk, arms folded over his chest. Jack couldn’t help but notice the way that Will’s shirt was rolled up to his elbows in much the same way as Hannibal would wear it. 

“This is the first case we worked together,” Will stated, pointing at all of the files over the desk. Jack gave a small nod. “This is the very first case I helped you solve.” Another small nod was Will’s answer as if he needed the reassurance once more. “I don’t remember it Jack.” His voice shook as he said the words. “I don’t remember any of it.” His hand went up and rubbed at his jaw, trembling. He gave a forced laugh. “Did I...” He swallowed with a loud clicking sound in his throat. “Did I kill these girls?” 

“No,” Jack answered and Will gave a sigh of relief, shoulders visibly relaxing. That one word held more truth in it than what Will had been able to hear over the last week or so. More honesty than Molly or Walter had shone him. More honesty than his phone calls with Alana and Margot. More honesty than anyone who was alive, right there beside Abigail, who Will had thought was all in his mind until that morning when he found her file. “You did not kill any of these girls.” 

“I don’t remember Jack,” Will repeated once more. “None of it. I don’t remember solving this case, I don’t remember shooting Garret Jacob Hobbs, I don’t remember saving Abigail, I don’t remember going on trial and spending nearly a year in a mental hospital.” Will got to his feet, clearly upset and on edge. “I don’t remember a single report that I made. Not one single damn word written on these pages. I don’t remember any of it and that terrifies me.” 

Will sunk back into his chair, and Jack watched once more as this man that had been through so much cracked under the pressure again. Will wiped at the silent tears that were falling down his cheeks and Jack gave a sigh. 

“It might come back,” he offered. “The doctors were certain it would eventually.” 

“I don’t know if I want it to come back,” Will admitted. “My head has been pleasantly empty until I read all of this. I should have listened to Molly. I should have just let it all go.” 

“That’s not how you operate Will,” Jack said, glancing around the room for another chair and finding one, went over to grab it. He pulled it up to the desk and took a seat, winter coat over the back of the chair. “You dig until you know every last detail. That’s one of the reasons you’re so good at your job.” 

Will shook his head in disagreement. “I’m cursed,” he corrected. “My abilities have never been a gift. I wish they were gone.” 

“No you don’t,” Jack argued easily with a small shrug. “You said so yourself. You were saving lives. You saved people, Will.” 

“Not her,” Will shot back, pulling up a picture of Cassie Boyle and throwing it back onto the desktop over all of the other files. “Not her.” He repeated the motion with Marissa Schuur’s picture. “Not her.” Georgia Madchen. “And definitely not her.” Abigail's picture was placed on top of the stack, throat slit on Hannibal’s kitchen floor, icy blue eyes incredibly blank in their stare upward. 

Jack stared for a moment longer at the picture, concluding that Will really truly didn’t remember. He had been skeptical, but if Will had to sneak into his office and steal case files of cases that he had been so deeply invested, then there was something horribly wrong inside of Will’s head.

“I am torn Jack,” Will continued, voice soft. “I don’t want these blank spaces in my head anymore. I know that I am missing so much, and all of it is so incredibly important, desperately important, but at the same time, I don’t want any of these memories back. I don’t want to be able to live through them again and again and again, because I know that’s what I would do if I had them back. They would consume me.”

Jack was at a loss for words. What was he meant to say to that? It was like when he had found out that his wife had cancer. What does one say in a situation like that? Well, that sucks. Better roll of the dice in the next life, I guess. 

Jack sighed loudly through his nose and Will pulled his eyes from the pictures on his desk to see a conflicted man. One that looked to be fighting with what he wanted to say and what he should say. A man who was choosing to be silent so he didn’t ruin anything further than it was already ruined. 

“Jack, how could I forget all of this?” Will asked, trying to take the pressure off of Jack to answer his previous statements. “I remember that Beverly passed, but how could I forget that it was the Ripper that got her? How could I forget that, according to reports, she was coming to me while I was in that mental hospital, having me help her solve cases? How can I forget that I sailed across the world to go to Italy to find the Ripper? How do I fucking not remember going to Italy? I think I would remember going to Italy!” 

“Do you remember the Ripper?” Jack asked gently. 

Will gave a confused look, head tipped to the side. “As in his cases? Yes. I can recall, apparently only most, of his cases to mind with a horridly surprising clarity considering all of the other things that I’ve forgotten.”

Jack shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. You found the Ripper, Will. That’s who attacked you before you ended up in the hospital,” Jack explained, watching as Will’s eyes seemed to widen at the information given to him. “Do you remember anything about him?” 

Will shook his head absently, clearly lost back in thought. He closed his eyes and Jack waited patiently for the man. Anything to find Hannibal, that’s what Jack would take. Anything at all that Will could give him. “Just the profile I gave you,” Will finally answered, voice thick. “I don’t recall having ever met the Ripper.” 

Jack looked disappointed but gave a gentle nod. “I think it is time for us to move past this case.” Jack motioned to the desk. “It is a past that I think you will be better off forgetting.” Before Will could argue, Jack got to his feet and picked up his coat. “Please return those to my office when you are finished with them.” Jack gave a small bow of his head to dismiss himself and left the room and Will staring after him, wishing he understood what Jack meant. 

* * *

“Recovery time for both would normally be around four to six weeks,” Liam explained to both Margot and Alana who stood a good amount of space away from the bed they had placed Hannibal in. His skin was still sickly pale and he was still attached to an IV and a heart monitor, but he was fast asleep. “But because we did both at once, which is also not very ethical, it might take a little longer. He should not eat anything until his bowel movements are normal. It will mess with the work I did in his intestines. Water will be fine.” 

“And once he’s back on his feet?” Margot asked with a hint of disapproval in her voice, arms folded over her chest as she stared daggers at the man. 

“He won’t be for quite a while,” Liam continued to explain. “I will return soon to help with his physical therapy for his knee. The strength will need to be built back up in it. He will need to be on crutches for at least a month with no weight on that knee. And then it will probably take a good month or two more for him to have full range back in it and be able to go back to his normal activities.” 

“He’s not going to stay here that long,” Alana muttered. “He will want to move on. He doesn’t trust us enough to not turn him in.” 

“He doesn't have a choice,” Liam said with a small smile. “When he wakes, will you make sure that he gets up? I have placed a set of crutches by his bedside. He needs to be walking around every few hours. It’ll help prevent blood clots. Don’t expect him to go far though. Maybe once or twice around this room and then back into bed. Sleep is the best thing for him now.” 

Liam picked up his bags of tools and headed for the door, Margot and Alana following him as he continued his instructions. “If there is any inflammation to either area or if he starts to develop a high fever you need to call me. There’s something wrong in that case. I will most likely need to operate again. He currently still has one, but...” 

The door closed behind the three of them and Hannibal opened his eyes, reveling in the silence that seemed to cradle at his aching limbs. A constant, mind bending pain pulsed through every inch of his body, the only relief being the ice that he held against himself. 

Each breath he took hurt and found himself wanting to hold his breath until he started to go horribly dizzy before letting himself breathe in hopes that it would dull the pain, but it only made it worse. 

Instead he tried to search internally, trying to find someplace in his mind palace that overlapped with Will’s, a comfort in the thought that they could be together, that Will would be waiting for him. 

A small smile came to his lips at the idea of Will racing to his battered, beaten and broken body as he had when Hannibal had fallen into the river. The way that Will jumped into action when the situation demanded it. Will was able to push away his insecurities and mental deficiencies and work when it was needed most. It was how he saved Abigail. It was how he had saved himself from Randall Tier after Hannibal had set the killer on him. It was how Will had taken down The Great Red Dragon in a beautiful waltz. 

Will would take care of him. Will was that type of man. An embodiment of everything good and evil and trying so utterly hard to be good. It was attractive, the fight that Will put up daily. Some days he was more tired than others, some days nearly giving up, but picking himself back up to keep fighting. He was beautiful in his gentleness and alluring in his darkness. A blurring of the light and dark that Hannibal didn’t mind. 

Will’s fingers were kind as they felt out the new stitches and staples that filled Hannibal’s body, skilled with needing a soft hand to fashion lures and tie delicate knots in fishing lines. There was a welcome burn that came from each touch, but Hannibal didn’t mind it. The burn was from Will and Will was always welcome to burn him. 

Fingers threaded through his hair, pulling at it softly, voice dim and far away, though Hannibal was sure it was teasing him about how grey his hair was getting with his age. About how Will liked the longer length just as Hannibal enjoyed Will’s longer curls. 

The harshness of winter was gone, the warmth of sun against his skin, head held in Will’s lap as they lay on a hill, overlooking a lake. Will’s fingers played with Hannibal’s hair, the other hand splayed out on Hannibal’s chest, feeling each and every breath Hannibal took, making sure he was still breathing and not holding his breath to delay a pain response. 

At the lake’s edge stood Abigail, barefoot and in a flowing floral sundress, skipping rocks across the lake’s surface. Hannibal watched with a faint smile as she picked up a rock, skipped it and then reached for another over and over again. 

“She looks happy,” Will muttered above Hannibal. Hannibal gave a small nod, closing his eyes, letting the sun sink into his pale skin. “We don’t go out often enough. She doesn’t deserve to be cooped up in that house all day.” 

“She has the gardens to play in with Izzy,” Hannibal offered, a tiredness slipping over him, relaxing his body further into Will’s comforting grasp. “You know why we can’t let her out. We’re far too recognizable to grace the public without ending up in tabloids and behind bars.” 

“Murder Husbands,” Will said in disgust, causing Hannibal to smile. 

“Mrs. Lounds does have a way with words,” Hannibal agreed, giving a fake sound of pain when Will pulled at his hair. “You can’t be upset when it’s the truth.” 

“Careful, Dr. Lecter. I might find myself husbandless if you keep this up,” Will warned, eyes firm set out on Abigail who was wading into the lake, the small waves licking at the hem of her dress. “Maybe we should move again. Let her see something else.” 

“We have no reason to leave. We haven’t made ourselves noticeable yet.” 

“She’s restless,” Will defended, hand rubbing odd patterns and shapes into Hannibal’s chest comfortingly. 

“She is, or you are?” Hannibal corrected. Will gave another tug at his hair and he chuckled. “You can go explore. Our property is expansive. I bought it for a reason.” 

“Me being the reason?” 

“You are always the reason, _mylimasis_.” 

“Hannibal?” a voice called, causing Hannibal to look up to where Abigail was coming up to the hill, probably for something to eat. “Hannibal?” 

Summer was ripped away from him viciously and he was greeted with snow blowing outside of an open window. Outlined was a woman’s body, leaning over the bed. “Hannibal,” the voice said once more. “Jefferies said that you needed to try to walk around the room.” It was Alana. The last person that Hannibal truly wanted to see, but was grateful it was her and not Jack Crawford. “I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“It is a necessary evil,” Hannibal answered, mouth dry. He held out his hand and Alana slowly helped him sit up. He groaned, arm holding around his middle as if his insides wanted to spill out. Alana helped him to his feet and Hannibal did his best to keep himself upright as he was handed the crutches. He was grateful for the objects to put his weight on and he let Alana guide him around the room slowly, one hand pulling along his IV drip, the other ready to steady him if he needed it. “How long was I asleep?” 

“A few hours is all,” Alana replied. “It looks like your recovery-”

“I am well aware what my recovery looks like, Alana,” Hannibal interrupted, a dull ache already forming under his arms from the pressure of where his weight met the crutches. “And I am grateful to you for the help you are showing me.” 

“We didn’t do this for you,” Alana amended coldly. Hannibal paused in his barely moving steps and glanced over at the woman who looked worn from stress. His eyebrows rose and Alana rolled her eyes, nearly hearing his voice egg her on. “We did this for Will.” 

“Will has no further need of me. Why help me?” 

Hannibal began his rickety movements and Alana barely took a single step to catch up with him. “He is never more himself than he is with you,” Alana replied. “You’re good for each other. You balance one another.” 

“I pull him from his insecurities and he reigns me in?” Hannibal asked, trying to slowly turn back around. The room was beginning to spin and he wanted to be back in bed. 

“Something like that,” Alana agreed with a small nod, hand reaching out for one of Hannibal’s elbows to stabilize him as he turned back around. 

“How is he?” 

Alana blinked several times, trying to decide if she should tell Hannibal the truth or not. He already knew that Will didn’t remember him, Alana doubted she could make the pain he was feeling any worse. Alana could tell that it wasn’t just the physical that had Hannibal put out. He wasn’t Hannibal without Will by his side. He couldn’t rule his court without his queen to support him, not anymore. 

“He’s well,” Alana finally decided on. “He is back teaching.” 

Hannibal gave a small smile, thinking back to the class that he had entered in the middle of based on Jack’s request. A class that Will was teaching all about him. A class that Will was spouting compliments about his work almost as if he knew the killer was in the room with them. Compliments that Hannibal had to try very hard to keep down and hidden under his mask despite wanting to smile with sharp teeth. 

“He’s a good teacher. I found his classes fairly entertaining and intellectual. And the dog?” 

“Molly was taking care of it the last time I heard. I haven’t visited him since the hospital,” Alana explained, pace maddeningly slow. “Molly was very adamant that Jack and I don’t bother him during his recovery.” 

The crutch slipped on the slick floor and Hannibal tumbled forward. Alana quickly caught him and hoisted him back upright, Hannibal’s teeth gritted in pain with a sharp inhale. “I’ve got you,” Alana assured, taking on Hannibal’s weight fully as she lowered him back to the bed that they were gratefully close to. 

“Thank you,” he got out with bated breath. Alana helped the man lie back down on the bed and she gave a nod in answer, hands going to her hips with a deep breath. She turned to leave the room, determined to only give Hannibal the bare minimum care that she could when he called her name. “Can you please do me a favor?” 

Alana licked her lips as she turned back to the bed that was cast in a soft glow from a lamp. “What would that be, Hannibal? Favors are never easy for you.” 

“Please check on Will for me. Tell me how he is. I worry about him.” 

“Please?” Alana asked curiously. She could count on one hand the amount of times that Hannibal had said please to her. Only when he desperately wanted something would he use the word, politeness be damned. “Hannibal, how badly do you want this?”

“Please.” 

* * *

“This winter seems never ending, doesn't it?” Alana asked as she sat down in the small café booth with a tall coffee that was warming her frozen fingers. 

Will exhaled deeply as he sat down across from her, his own coffee in his hand. He pulled his beanie from his head, his curls wild underneath the hat. His glasses were then removed and placed on the table top, letting his blue eyes shine. 

“I would love to see grass again,” Will agreed softly, blowing at his coffee before taking a sip of the liquid that was still far too molten for his body, but he appreciated the burn, reminding him that he was alive and this was all real. “You’ve never once asked me to get coffee with you before. I’ve never been asked to get coffee by anyone before.” 

“Well, I just thought that it would be a nice change of pace from everything,” Alana answered with a shrug, taking a sip of her own drink and pushing it away at a burn against her lips, still too hot. “And we haven’t spoken in a while.” 

“We haven’t spoken since I woke up in the hospital,” Will corrected, the same sort of hostility in his tone that had been there ever since Alana had defended Hannibal. She wasn’t sure if Will could remember their relationship after she had been pushed from the window, but it didn’t matter. He subconsciously was still upset with her. “So why reach out now?” 

“I was in town,” Alana said with a nod. “We were looking at maybe moving back down here. I was checking out houses.” 

“Without Margot?” Will tipped his head to the side curiously, like one of his many stray dogs and Alana gave a small smile at the familiarity of it all. “You two have been very inseparable since meeting.” 

“She is my wife, Will,” Alana reminded, curious just how much he really did remember. He could remember Margot, but not Hannibal when it was due to Hannibal that they had met. “You and Molly hardly separate either, unless Jack calls you away for a case. Has he done that recently?” 

Will blinked several times at the sharp change in subject. “No,” Will stated firmly. “Is this what this is about?”

“What?” Alana asked in confusion. 

“You want to make sure that Jack doesn't break me again?” 

Alana shook her head. Will was always so quick to shut down, so quick to jump to conclusions. “I just wanted to get coffee and talk. Normal people things.” 

“I’m not exactly the right person to be doing normal people things with, Alana.” 

Alana smiled and took another drink of her coffee, the temperature much more manageable. “Then this should be fun, shouldn’t it?” she asked back cheekily, causing Will’s eyes to narrow on her suspiciously. “I’m not a practicing psychiatrist anymore Will. I just want to talk. No profile, no brain picking, no games, just friends having coffee.” 

“Then what is your burning question, Alana Bloom? What could a mind with no longer a professional curiosity about me want to know?” Will’s fingers traced the patterns in the geometric tabletop, eyes not looking at Alana in the slightest, utterly concentrated on the square his fingers had found. 

“I would like to know how you’ve been Will,” Alana answered sweetly. Will glanced up for a fleeting moment before his eyes went back to his shapes. “How are the dogs? How’s Molly and Walter? How is work? Tell me how you have been.” 

Will was silent for a moment or two and Alana could see him weighing all of the answers out in his mind before he picked and chose extremely carefully what he would let come out of his mouth. 

“The dogs are good. Izzy still doesn’t like anyone but me. She growls anytime Molly tries to come near her,” Will finally responded, eyes still firmly set on a triangle now. Will caught Alana’s nod and tried not to read further into it than he had. It was almost as if she understood what he meant as if she knew why Izzy didn’t like Molly, but Will didn’t say a word. “Molly and Walter are...” he exhaled deeply, hurt in the breath. “Closed off.” He sucked his lips into his mouth and licked at them for a moment in thought. “Walter doesn't want to be around me and Molly keeps a wall up between my work and my past and her. I feel like I’ve interrupted their family and I’m no longer welcomed.” 

Alana was quiet, listening to the broken man speak, wishing there was some way that she could tell him everything, every last detail, to wash away any pain and doubt. She wanted Will to know that, as twisted as the man was, like a corkscrew sort of twisted, there was someone out there that loved Will, cared for Will and would not abandon him. Someone just out of memory’s reach. 

And as much as she wanted to say Hannibal had broken his promise, Hannibal had kept it full heartedly. That promise that he had made her before being escorted out of his cell. A promise to keep Will Graham safe. And Hannibal had. He had not abandoned Will, not in the way that Alana had. He had not given up on Will, he had simply put Will in the position that Will needed to be to keep him safe and medically sound. And hadn’t that been everyone’s goal since the very beginning? To keep Will Graham medically safe and sound? 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must be hard.” 

“It’s infuriating,” Will answered, blinking hard, the words sharp on his tongue. “And I don’t even know what I possibly did or said to hurt them. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m just walking on glass hoping that I don’t slice open my foot. I don’t know how much longer I can do that.” 

“Maybe you just need to let things settle down a bit more?” Alana offered, unsure of what else to say to comfort the man. Will was difficult to read and even more difficult to try and pull from a gutter when he fell into it. Everything had to be said and picked carefully. 

“It’s been two weeks, Alana. I don’t think the house can settle any further into the foundation without the cracks becoming worse.” Will took another sip of his drink and looked out at the swirling snow and people trudging through it, wrapped jackets and scarfs right around their bodies in hope of finding some semblance of heat. “You know...” he whispered, breath fogging up the glass. “I have this dream nearly every night, a dream where...” he paused, a hand reaching out to wipe at the glass only to have it fog up again. “I’m drinking expensive wine in front of an enormous fireplace and there’s a voice there that reads me stories in languages that I don’t know. And it’s...” 

Will stopped, turning back to the table, picking up his coffee to signal the end of the thought, not wanting to finish it. Alana gave a small nod, listening, unable to do anything else. How was she supposed to tell him that it was real? How was she supposed to tell him that Hannibal, the Ripper, who was currently recovering from two major surgeries in her home in Harrisburg, two hours away, was the man who read to him in the firelight? 

“Have you tried talking to Molly?” Alana asked, the only logical thing that she could force from her mouth without screaming from the rooftops that Hannibal was sick in a bed within driving distance. Hannibal was delicious with lack of sleep because he was afraid of the nightmares awaiting him. Hannibal was refusing any pain medication and living every day as a mass of hurt. Hannibal needed Will just as much as Will needed Hannibal. That Hannibal always kept his promises and each day he was getting better was another day closer to her own demise. 

“She shuts down or blocks me out or deflects the conversations,” Will explained, jaw tight. “And just the other night we were having dinner with one of Wally’s friend’s parents and they mentioned that I had been tried for the Chesapeake Ripper’s murders.” 

Alana froze at the words, concern flooding her face. “You didn’t remember the trial?” she asked softly. 

Will gave a huff of laughter and shook his head. “I still don’t remember the trial.” He shook his head. “And Molly offered to talk and when I brought it up later, she wouldn’t speak to me. And I tried searching for information on the case. Tattle-Crimes, Garret Jacob Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike.” Will’s hand lightly hit the table each time he said a name. “They were blocked. All of my searches in regards to that case are parental blocked and I don’t have the code, in my own house.” 

The anger radiating off the man was hot and deep. Frustration and hurt and Alana wanted to hug him in an attempt to sooth him. He just wanted to know about himself. That was all Will had ever wanted, just to understand himself and have someone else understand him and Molly was denying him that. Alana knew Will well enough to know that Will didn’t leave well enough alone. 

“Do you remember any of it?” Alana questioned gently. 

Will shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck with a loud exhale. “I read all of the case files that Jack had on it, but I don’t remember any of it. Nothing. It’s all blank. I just know what I’ve read from a piece of paper. Reports, pictures, court documents. I’ve read everything, every last little thing I can and there’s nothing there.” 

“Maybe you just need to let it go?” 

Will laughed, head thrown back, shocking Alana. “Why is this the first thing that you and Jack have agreed on?” He finished off his coffee in one last large swig, setting the cup aside and folding his arms on the table. “I can’t let it go Alana. There are five years missing, five years of my life that I have no idea what happened. Five years just gone.” 

“You obviously remember some of it.” Alana gave a single shoulder shrug. “You remember Margot and Molly and Walter.” 

“I don’t remember how I met Margot though,” Will grumbled. “I just seemed to know that she was married to you and that you have a son. I don’t even remember his name.” 

“Morgan,” Alana supplied with a small smile, seeing Will’s face relax slightly with a smile of his own, obviously grateful that more information wasn’t being hidden away from him. 

“Morgan,” he repeated softly, tasting the name on his tongue carefully. “How old is he now?” 

“Nearly four.” 

Will’s smile grew and he gave a small nod, head returning to look out of the window. “Thank you Alana.” 

“For what?” Alana asked curiously. 

“Not lying to me.” 

* * *

“Well?” Hannibal asked as Alana entered the room, closely followed by Margot. 

Alana glanced over the man who was sitting up in bed, boredly picking at a thread in the quilt that covered him. Alana couldn’t help but feel smug at the fact that Hannibal was reduced to not being able to do anything. Only his mind for company, nothing else there to distract him. Each and every minute there for Hannibal to feel. 

There was a flash of threatening eyes as Hannibal looked up, wanting the silence to be filled, but Alana simply folded her arms over her chest with pursed lips. They stared at each other for a long moment before his gaze softened, obviously recognizing that the position he was in was not one where he could demand things handed to him on a silver platter. 

“How is Will Graham?” he asked, voice much calmer, hands now folded in his lap. 

Margot was silent as Alana stepped up to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Margot was well aware of the leverage that her wife held over Hannibal. Margot had been working hard to make sure that they stayed as the upper hand. Anything to help her make sure that Hannibal’s promise was null and void, especially after all of the shit that both her and Alana had gone through for the men in this world. That’s why they had picked each other. They were a safe haven in a world that was fucked up and used them as it wanted and Margot wasn’t about to let that be stripped away from her. 

“He doesn't know it, but missing you,” Alana answered, finally filling the silence. Margot smirked at the next few hours that would be playing out, something that Alana had simply suggested and it made Margot laugh for once in a very long time. Something torturously fun, something that Hannibal deserved. “Molly is taking good care of him and the dog is perfectly happy.” 

Alana rose from the bed and Margot delighted in the wide eyed confusion that was over Hannibal’s face. “That’s all?” he asked breathlessly. Margot had to hide a laugh at the twitch in the corner of one of Hannibal’s eyes. “That’s all I get?” 

Alana tipped her head back and forth in mock thought and shrugged. “For now. Motivation to get out of bed. Come to the table for lunch today and I will think about letting you know more.” 

Hannibal frowned at the thought of being strung along, but he gave a small nod. He knew it was the only way he was going to get any information out of the two of them. He just had to play their game until he was healed and then the rules would be bent back in his favor. They were always in his favor at the end. He was the one who wrote the rules and it didn’t do well for others to believe that they could. Oh, he would let them win for a moment or two, just to see what they would do, but he was the puppet master and if they didn’t dance for him just so, the stings were cut. 

He watched as Alana and Margot left his room and he closed his eyes with a deep and steadying breath. He needed to get up anyways. He still needed to walk, well hop, about to keep his blood circulating correctly and he wasn’t sure if he could stand being alone in this room any longer with nothing to do. There was only so long that his dreams could keep him pleasant enough company, and his mind could only imagine so far. Imagining was not the same as living, the details nowhere near as vivid and Hannibal wanted to live rather than imagine. 

With more practiced hands, Hannibal gathered his crutches and pushed himself up from the bed, straightening his clothes before hobbling himself from the bedroom and towards the dining room. Morgan ran past him once, both dogs following after him, barking as they went. 

Hannibal watched them go and disappear around a corner before he pushed open the doors to the dining room. He glanced around the room that had been shrouded in darkness the last time he had entered it, delusional with fever. 

The room was overly large, something to show off how much money Margot had. Three people didn’t have a need for such a space. Hannibal was one to indulge, but even this he found as ridiculous. 

The table was of white marble, spanning the full length of the room, a good football pitch in length. The chairs were white armchairs with cushioned seats, studded and buttoned, hand carved designs around the head of each one. 

Down the middle of the table were several vases of flowers, fake, much to Hannibal’s dislike, but he was sure they would have been filled with breathing flowers if the time of year allowed. 

The floor was slick porcelain tile, also in that same medical white. The same white that covered the walls and the chandelier that hung over the table. Hannibal was about to take a seat to wait for Alana and Margot who would, he hoped, eventually show up, when the door opened. 

“You can just wait in here,” Margot’s voice said as Hannibal attempted to turn around. “I will see if I can track down Morgan and the dogs. Don’t mind Uncle Allister. He’s just visiting.” 

The door closed and before Hannibal could get all the way around, the crutch slipped out from under him. Strong hands gripped at his arms and pushed him upright, helping him straighten out until Hannibal was staring into a pair of tempera blue eyes, large brush strokes of concern through the blue hues of sky. 

“Are you alright?” Will’s voice asked, dancing in Hannibal’s ears like a concerto. 

For one of the very few times in his life, Hannibal couldn’t speak. It was like all intelligent connection to language had evaporated form his mind and his mouth hung open with only silence coming out. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in this cruel joke that Alana and Margot had played on him. A joke that made his insides squirm and his mouth go dry. 

“This floor isn’t exactly the best thing for crutches, is it?” Will continued on, unbothered by Hannibal’s lack in answer. “Let’s get you to a chair.” Will’s strong hands guided Hannibal into the first chair at the table and Will took the crutches, leaning them against the edge of the marble. “I hope I didn’t startle you.” 

“N-No,” Hannibal finally got out, clearing his throat. Will gave a kind half smile and tilted his head slightly. “Not at all.” Hannibal watched as Will’s nose scrunched up. 

“You sound familiar,” he whispered softly, only deepening the pain in Hannibal’s chest. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

_He doesn't remember._

Hannibal quickly placed his mask back on, hiding away any hurt before it had a chance to manifest himself across his features. “I’m afraid not,” Hannibal clarified, closing his eyes with a deep breath, mask cracking slightly. How unfair. “As Margot said, I’m just visiting for a time. Better medical practices here than my country.” 

“And where is that?” Will asked curiously, pulling a chair around the other side of the table to sit next to Hannibal. “I can’t exactly place your accent.” 

“Lithuania,” Hannibal found himself saying, the truth being the only things that could come out. Hannibal watched as Will’s eyes searched him from top to bottom, carefully calculating and storing away any information that he could find. “And Louisiana?” 

The small smile that had been hovering over Will’s lips dropped and he leaned away from Hannibal quickly, but didn’t move his chair in fear of being rude to the older man. “How did you know?” 

“You try to hide it,” the man that Margot had called Allister explained simply, as if Will were as easy to read as everyone else was to Will. “But you can pick it out on some of your vowels.” 

Will gave a nod in understanding, unsure why he couldn’t look away from the man before him. His hair was long and dark with silver through it, most likely blond when the man was younger. He had a slight cut hidden beneath his bangs, the bruising a mustard yellow that dipped a bit lower than his hairline. 

He was thin, thinner that what Will felt like should have been his normal weight. But he was on crutches and had obviously just had medical treatment of some kind. It would make sense if the man wasn’t eating nearly enough as his body tried to heal itself. 

He wore a simple sweater and sleep pants, though Will had the odd feeling that the man normally sported a suite and tie. Something in striking colors and weird patterns, mostly paisley. And that voice, Will couldn’t place it, but he knew it from somewhere. Recognized it, though it was faded. As if it were from a dream, or a dream of a dream. 

“Do you not like eye contact?” Allister questioned, a faint familiarity to the words. 

“Eyes are distracting,” Will answered, fingers tapping on the table. “You see too much. You don’t see enough. It’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?” Will’s eyes jumped up to meet a curious maroon gaze, his mouth going dry, words mere whispers as they left his lips. “So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.” 

Familiar and foggy...

Will jumped as the spell was broken and the door to the rather impressive dining room opened. Alana and Margot stood at the doorway as Morgan ran in, the two dogs behind him. Hannibal watched as Will’s eyes lit up and he reached out to scratch at Winston’s head. 

“Hey boy,” Will said happily, pulling at Hannibal’s heart. “Have you been good? I’ve missed you.” Winston jumped up and licked at Will’s face, causing the man to laugh as he leaned away from the dog. “Down, Winston,” he commanded, the dog immediately obeying. “Thank you for watching him.” Will’s smile was bright as he reached down to pet the other dog now as well. “Are you sure I can take them back?” 

“He’s yours,” Morgan quickly said. “Applesauce, come on.” The lighter dog barked and followed Morgan from the room, Will keeping a firm grip on Winston so the dog didn’t follow. 

“I hope Uncle Allister wasn’t too much of a bother,” Margot said, Will catching a hint of sarcasm in her voice. 

Will’s eyes flickered over to the man who was watching him intently. “Not at all.” Will rose to his feet, clicking his tongue to get Winston’s attention. “Heel,” he ordered softly. Winston stood at his side, following closely as Will walked over to Alana and Margot to give them hugs. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t sure where he had gone.” 

“Molly just needed some help while you were in the hospital,” Alana said with a grin and a small shrug in answer. “It was no problem. Give Molly our regards.” 

“I will.” Will gave a nod and went for the door. He stopped as the man spoke once more. 

“ _Prašau prisiminti mane, gudrus berniukas._ ”

Will blinked a few times, the words catching him off guard. He glanced back over his shoulder for a moment and licked his lips, confusion over his face. He shook his head and gave Margot and Alana another smile before leaving the room, accompanied by Alana to show him out. 

Once the door closed, Hannibal released a deep breath and sunk back in his chair, despair washing over and completely through him before he could stop it. He licked at his teeth for a moment and gave a laugh. 

“Which one of you thought up that plan?” he asked. 

“Alana was hoping it would help him remember,” Margot replied, arms folded and her steps lazy as she approached the table. “She thought that if he did then we could get you out of our home, away from our son. But I thought that this was rather amusing as it was.” 

“I bet it was riveting to watch,” Hannibal agreed, tongue playing with one of his sharp canines. 

“What are you going to do, Dr. Lecter? Is there anything to live for if Will Graham does not remember you?” 

Hannibal’s eyes drifted over to the flowers in the vases, flickering over them until they landed on a small blue flower. “Forget Me Nots. Interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mylimasis-precious
> 
> Prašau prisimink mane, gudrus berniukas- Please remember me, cunning boy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments and kudos! They keep me going. 
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful beta, @PitaGonzalezMe on twitter.


End file.
